#I thought norma was hard to draw

[saucytango]

Mt favorite Aquato

[ampreh]

[TRF] Norma

Birthday gift for my dear friend @nalak-bel who owns @1940s-onceler ♥

• The Rust Factory - Norma II (<- BONUSES, illustrations in color) I don't always get the chance to do big works, but when I can, I do! I'm happy to develop The Rust Factory's universe a little more in their golden years (1940-1950 and after…). Even though we obviously only show small Lorax-related moments (hello, other story version safely tucked away in our files), I thought it was nice to reveal a little more about Coal (@chimneycoal-yuntzler) and Nathan's (@1940s-onceler) private life.

It was time to show a little Normaler!!! I love the idea of having a Norma in The Rust Factory. I love the idea of having a chubby Norma because she's so cute like that in the movie! It couldn't be any other way and I'm personally very much looking forward to seeing her again in the rp, if Nathan manages to reconnect with her. It'll give me a chance to draw Norma more often.

Originally, this scene in the TRF roleplay took place during their bath; but I wasn't going to draw two naked people… … not here. There are children.

Ahem.

Anyway. That explains why Nathan dives his head into the fountain one moment: he's supposed to immerse himself completely in his bath! I think that's a pretty funny annecdote. That, and the fact that even in his bath, Nathan Cole is still enjoying a big end-of-day cigar, having amassed a few thousand dollars in the process. Coal isn't the type to be jealous of the private life Nathan had before her; in fact, she has a permanent form of admiration for him. He represents the perfect American dream for her: a country boy who came from nothing and made his fortune through sheer will and hard work. And even if she sometimes needs to stop flattering his over-inflated ego, she knows she'll always be a solid shoulder for him to lean on and confide his doubts. Especially when he's being melodramatic, RIGHT? What a baby. I love him.

The cover image is a sketch I started… a year ago? Almost?

[greyssketches]

Make a drawing using this Jax quote I made

Context: Pomni started yelling at Jax because he was bothering. When Pomni starts crying, Jax decides to open up to her for once

“I wasn’t always a jerk, you know. Heh. Yeah. I know it’s hard to believe but…I was actually a nice person. But then Ragatha showed up and…I felt overshadowed. So I thought to myself, if the world is gonna see Ragatha as the good guy, there has to be a bad guy to ruin her life. So I know how it feels to feel lost and…know you can’t look back on the damage you’ve done…”

That's an interesting request! Here are my commission prices:

[normanbased]

with regards to norman’s ability (or lack thereof) to recognize abuse: i definitely agree that he can recognize it to an extent when it’s happening to other people, but not when it’s happening to him— or he’s so eager to keep someone in his life that even when he does recognize it he’s willing to turn a blind eye.

i personally think that:

1) he recognizes physical abuse in others’ relationships because it’s the most “extreme” to him, but not things like emotional/verbal/financial/etc. abuse because they’ve been so normalized in his life,

2) he doesn’t really notice the little cues that someone might be upset or in an unhealthy relationship, like the examples you gave (a nervous laugh, the way an abuser might touch their victim, etc.) and this is partly because he has trouble with social cues as a whole,

3) he has certain things he draws a hard line at, things like physical violence (as aforementioned), maybe infidelity, and i imagine emotional neglect because he’s kind of used to the opposite (being smothered all the goddamn time)*,

and 4) he tends to give the benefit of the doubt even when it’s really not deserved. he’s been so conditioned to think his mother wanted what was best for him that he kinda universally applies that and tends to rationalize it that way.

in the latest chapter of my fic for instance, when mary opens up about her mother, norman shows understanding but is still hesitant to agree that mary should cut lila off because a part of him still has this gut feeling that mother knows best etc, it’s just tough love, she just doesn’t know how to show it, she’s still your family, etc. he wants to support mary’s decision no matter what, but this comes at the cost of him not telling her that should she choose not to speak to her mother anymore, it wouldn’t sit very well with him. i’m curious as to your thoughts!

*i feel like norma definitely used the fact that norman was attached at her hip to her advantage sometimes. her locking him in a closet in IV comes to mind, for instance. i imagine she knew that the idea of her being so angry with him as to ignore him for several hours would cause him severe distress. it literally is all her fault man 💀

.

[ash-the-porcupine]

Little one shot I made a while back :) I'm supposed to be learning about viscosity in Chemistry right now but I'm tiredddd

Buster Moon sighed as he placed himself on the couch. It was three in the morning, and this was something of a ritual by now. He struggled to keep his eyes open, yet was far too awake to close them.

His little paws clung to a cup of steaming tea, where a teabag bobbed up and down at the surface. He made it for the smell more than anything. He hated himself for his trauma, and for the trouble it caused. He was always so anxious and jumpy, and it made it hard to get anything done.

Rosita and the others noticed, of course. It was hard to miss. But he hated to see the worried stares of his friends. He hated to know he was hurting them. And yet still when they inquired about his wellbeing, the lie that escaped his mouth was impulsive, and he could never even think before it slipped out.

When he said he was fine, he never meant it at heart. But oh, how he wished he did! It hurt him to know that his words dampened the spirits of those he cared about. He was aware that not a single on of the troupe believed Buster was 'fine,' or anything of the sort, for that matter.

He wanted to tell them how much he was hurting, but his thoughts would not allow it. Most of the time, his pain presented itself in the form of a tight feeling in his chest, nightmares, and little flashbacks. Sometimes these flashbacks were just little flickers, fissures in the present reality, but he couldn't ignore them.

He couldn't help the stab of fear when the face of a friend, a warm and loving figure, was suddenly replaced with the face of those who wished him harm. Sometimes that face was Jimmy Crystal, sometimes it was Angus Chrome, and other times it was Norma Hawkins - as the freshest trauma in his mind.

And these faces plagued his nightmares. He couldn't control it - despite his fervent wishes - but they did. And the fact that Buster was becoming increasingly phlegmatic plagued the dreams of his friends. No, his family.

Buster was slowly forcing himself to appear emotionless. He didn't even realize it himself. And when he wasn't, the happiness and charisma he put on display were just that: a display.

But wanted to apologize. So why couldn't he? He had the capability, of courze. Maybe he just didn't have the heart, as much as it pained his to say.

He sipped at the tea, looking down at it and watching the little swirls in the liquid drift apart and together in the surface, a paper-thin barrier. He closed his eyes for a brief second and breathed in the scent deeply, taking it in.

Maybe he should tell somebody. But how? He knew that the moment they said something, his mouth would only spill lies. He was disgusted with himself. Is this all he was? A charlatan and a negating runaway?

That. That's what he was doing. He was running away from his problems. He sniffed, looking up and out his office window. He could see the odd car driving by, headlights illuminating the streets and the darker corners of his room. A few street lamps flickered dimly, the light just enough the draw his eyes, and he saw an animal walk down the sidewalks once or twice.

And he had to wonder now as he tilted his gaze to look at what little of the night sky he could see through the window: would he be like this forever?

He felt like all he did anymore was chase the approve of others, trying to find some way to, what, confirm that his own self was valid? Why did he need a random stranger to validate him? Ash had told him so many times, as had the others, that he didn't need strangers to tell him he was good enough, he just had to believe it himself.

And that is where it all went wrong. He didn't. And so he took desperate measure after desperate measure to try and fix some part of himself that he couldn't even recognize.

First he flooded the theater, then he lied and got him and his family incoorporated with Crystal, then with Angus Chrome, and again with Norma Hawkins. It felt a god-awful Groundhog Day at this point.

And each of his mistakes came back to haunt him. He would have been willing to do anything to escape his problems at this point, but instead he just wallowed in his sadness.

As another flash passed before his eyes, a milisecond of Norma's talons, he made up his mind. He opened up his laptop, clicked Ash's email, and finally said something.

"Can I talk to you?"

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 30: Recovery

Hospital Bed

3817 Words; Ouroboros AU

TW for injury, mentions of murder

AO3 ver

“Of all the irresponsible, ill-thought out, reckless—”

Hollis continued her lecture, pacing back and forth throughout the body of the Pelican. Sam shrunk back a little further into her seat—though that did nothing for the killer headache currently prancing about in her skull. Apparently she did have a limit to how many times she could explode metal or empty air or stone, good to know. Now if only her head would stop trying to explode itself…

Mirtala shifted beside her, blatantly staring at Raz who was sitting next to her. Hollis was still lecturing, and it looked like everyone else was listening, but Sam had kind of tuned her out a while ago. Not that she had meant to—just, it was kinda hard to listen to someone when her head was being chewed up better than Fur Lancelot could ever mash acorns. Ugh, an acorn kinda sounded nice now—except for the fact that her head felt like a mashed acorn. Her gaze drifted over to Norma—did her splinted arm feel like a mashed acorn, too?

Actually, now that Sam thought about it, wasn’t everyone exhausted? Couldn’t the lecture wait until they could all actually listen to it—no, wait, Hollis was just gonna give them the same lecture at class in the morning, wasn’t she. So maybe Sam didn’t need to tune in now, if she’d get to hear it later.

Mirtala shifted beside her, drawing Sam’s attention back to her. As far as Sam could tell, Tala was pretty cool. Not as cool as Dogen, of course, but Sam could appreciate Mirtala’s determination to blow her enemies up. That she had been Pooter’s missing sister all along probably explained that, actually. She was currently alternating between staring at Raz like she wasn’t sure what to make of him and glaring at Hollis—

(“Where is my brother.” A quiet demand that stopped Hollis in her tracks as she finally noticed Tala standing next to Raz, “Where’s Dion.”)

But from what Sam knew, there really wasn’t any choice but to send Dion to the hospital. She hadn’t gotten the chance to see the guy herself, let alone meet him—but from what she had overheard Sasha mentioning to Milla, it uh. It hadn’t been good. Mirtala, on the other hand, was relatively unscathed and holding Raz’ hand like a lifeline, so she’d been shuffled onto the Pelican with the rest of them for the time being. Sam wished she could offer anything more than a “sorry I indirectly blew your brother up” but there really wasn’t much she could do. Not with her brain feeling like a steamrolled acorn.

Hollis’ lecture continued. The Pelican flew on.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted into consciousness. Pain scrabbled at his everything, but in a way that was distant, muffled.

He caught a blurry glimpse of white—

And then he fell back into unconsciousness.

+=+=+=+=+

“What the f—heck is wrong with you?!” Were the first words Lili said as the junior agents trudged off of the Pelican. Her arms were crossed, much like Truman’s, who stood beside her. You went on an adventure and didn’t think to TELL ME? Her mental voice snaked into Raz’ head like fire up a trellis, anger undercut with what might have been worry if Raz was lucky. While Hollis’ attention turned towards Truman, Lili marched up to Raz, poking him in the chest. “What if Ford hadn’t told Truman where you guys went?” She asked, “What if you didn’t come back?”

“Leave him alone!” And there was Mirtala, interposing herself between Lili and Raz with a glare, hands balled into fists. “You don’t get to talk to my brother like that!”

“Wh—” Lili flinched back, eyes widening as Mirtala’s words registered. Raz grabbed at Mirtala’s shoulder to try and pull her back, a warning “Tala—” creaking out from his throat.

Mirtala shrugged Raz’ hand off and stuck her tongue out at Lili. Sparks danced at Lili’s fingertips, unwilling to back down to a six year old—

And then Truman was there, gently pulling Lili back while Hollis herded the rest of the junior agents towards the door. “So you’re Mirtala,” He greeted, as Lili crossed her arms and turned her glare onto Raz—we are NOT done talking about this!

Mirtala turned narrowed blue eyes onto Truman. “And who are you?” She demanded.

Raz elbowed his sister. “That’s the Grand Head of the Psychonauts.” He hissed, before looking back at Lili and thinking I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry at her.

Mirtala processed those words, then—“oh, like your dorky spy comics?” She asked, suddenly the picture of girlish innocence once again.

Raz sputtered. “Dorky—?”

“Children, children.” Truman set a hand on Raz and Lili’s shoulders, leading them towards the door. “We’ve all had a very long night. Let’s try hashing this out once we’ve all had a good night’s sleep, okay?” He turned his attention to Mirtala directly. “Your family will be very happy to see you again—do you want to see them tonight, or wait until tomorrow?”

Mirtala would have crossed her arms if she wasn’t holding Raz’ hand. “Will Dee get to see them too?” Her eyes widened, “Or do you hate him for killing people?”

“We’re… working on that.” Truman said. “He’s not actually in our custody, currently—the…” he trailed off at Mirtala’s glare. “You and your brother won’t be separated for long.” He promised, as the four of them made it to the tube leading up to the atrium.

Raz really hoped Truman could keep that promise.

+=+=+=+=+

“I mean, we have just as much jurisdiction here as you do.” Agent Booth was arguing. “And the guy committed several murders.” This was why Hollis hated dealing with the Federal Bureau of Investigations—they seemed to go out of their way to make things as difficult as possible for her.

“Ouroboros is just as much our case as yours.” Hollis explained, with more patience in her grit teeth than she felt the man before her deserved. “Not to mention, we’ll be handling the bulk of the paperwork regardless since it was our agents who were present at the scene—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Booth waved dismissively. “But it was our guys who took the fighters to the hospital, and it’ll be our guys who investigate from here on out. Your work is appreciated, but—” He shot her a grin that was probably meant to be reassuring, but that really only made Hollis grit her teeth a little harder, “We’ll take it from here.”

Hollis’ eyes narrowed. She smiled primly, not breaking eye contact with the agent in front of her. “He’s a child.” She pointed out. And an Aquato, who the Psychonauts owed and even if they didn’t it still wasn’t right to keep him separate from his family—

Booth shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll try him as a minor.” He offered. Hollis’ smile twitched.

The door behind her opened, a woman Hollis recognized as one of the top forensic anthropologists in the country entering the office. “Booth, Hodgins found—am I interrupting?”

Booth shook his head. “Nope! Forsythe here was just leaving.” He nodded his head towards the door, a clear dismissal. Hollis stood slowly, but she didn’t leave. No, she leaned forwards, and spoke, voice calm and collected.

“I don’t care how much bureaucratic bullshit you throw my way, Agent Booth.” Hollis warned. “Dionysus Aquato was a missing persons case before all of this, and a child on top of that. The Psychonauts will handle his part of the investigation—and he will be transferred to Clay Ridge even if I have to oversee the transfer myself.” She grabbed the folder she had brought with her as she straightened back up. “That’s a promise, Agent Booth.” Her piece said, she turned to leave, though she could still hear through the open door as she left.

“Booth.” Brennan scolded, looking aghast. “You’re really trying to keep a child separated from his family?” She sounded disgusted. Hollis couldn’t help but agree.

“Wh—” Booth’s hands flew out, “He’s got a body count in the double digits!” Whatever else he was going to say faded out as she made her way down the hall to the elevator. As the doors slid closed, chintzy elevator music floating into the space, Hollis allowed herself one satisfied smile. She hadn’t accounted for Brennan, but—

It seemed luck was on her side, for once.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala threw a rock into the water. It had been a few days since… well, everything, and they still hadn’t let her see Dion. Her family’s caravan was a little further back into the trees—and wasn’t that weird, that her family was so close to a whole bunch of fortune tellers after everything Dad had said about them—still within her line of sight if she looked back.

Or rather, Mirtala figured, she was in her family’s line of sight.

Frazie chucked a pinecone over the water, far further than Mirtala could throw it. The two of them had been chucking rocks and pinecones in silence for the past while, though Mirtala noticed Frazie using her mind to blow up some of the pinecones after she threw them. Mirtala… wasn’t sure how to think about that.

She wasn’t sure how to think about a lot of things. She hadn’t seen a sky that wasn’t green or purple in a while, she hadn’t been an acrobat proper for a while—

Her braids were still twisted into tight little buns, dark blue ribbon not really standing out from her hair. Her mom had offered to braid it, this morning—but Mirtala had gone to Frazie, instead. She was too on-edge, she supposed. Nothing—nothing made sense anymore.

Nona wasn’t her Nona. The water curse wasn’t real(?), and psychics were a good thing now. It was so different from the family Mirtala remembered, the change so jarring and sudden—

But Raz looked happier, and Dad walked around a little lighter now, and Frazie was shooting pinecones with psychic blasts without hesitation, so Mirtala figured the changes weren’t bad. They were just different.

(Or maybe Mirtala was the one who was different.)

“Hey guys.” And there was Raz, coming up behind them on that ball of brain stuff that let him run around faster. “How’s things?”

Frazie shrugged. “Any news on Dee?” She asked, as Mirtala managed to hurl a pinecone just short of the opposite bank. Mirtala turned her attention fully onto Raz, waiting for his answer. She was expecting a denial—

Raz brightened. “Hollis says we can go see him at Clay Ridge whenever we’re ready!” He said. “Mom and Dad were planning to visit him tomorrow—”

“Why not now?!” Mirtala nearly shrieked, before stepping back and lowering her voice at Frazie’s flinch. “Why can’t we go now—”

Raz shrugged. “Dad said it’d be a two-hour drive.” He glanced up at the sky, which was still quite blue in Mirtala’s opinion, even if it wasn’t quite as bright as it had been during lunch. “And Nona wanted to come along.”

Frazie nodded, like that made perfect sense. Mirtala’s face scrunched in a pout, and she picked up a rock to hurl into the water as hard as she could—

Only for a hand made of water to catch the rock and throw it the rest of the way to the other bank. Mirtala blinked.

“Pooter, stop that.” Frazie groused, as the hand fell away only to rise again with a new rock and hurl it at the opposite bank.

“But why?” Raz was grinning, as he made the water hand grab another rock from the riverbed to throw. “Why can’t I throw rocks with you guys?”

“Because you won’t let me see Dion.” Mirtala sniffed, crossing her arms. Frazie snorted into her hand.

“They won’t let me see him either!” Raz protested. His face softened, and then—“Is… what’s Dee like?” He asked, “After… Ouroboros?” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, something uncertain written across his face.

“He’s still Dion, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mirtala replied airily. Except Dion wasn’t the same as he’d been before Ouroboros, not really—

(And neither was Mirtala—)

—but it wasn’t like the rest of the family had stayed the same, so it probably evened out.

“Is it…” Frazie started, flipping over onto her hands as her jaw worked. “Is it true? That Dion… killed people?”

“It’s Ouroboros.” Mirtala said flatly. “And Dee never lost when it mattered, so I don’t get what you’re so worried about.”

Raz and Frazie exchanged looks, silent conversation running between them that Mirtala wasn’t privy to. Mirtala huffed, and started wandering back in the direction of the caravan. So what if everything was different and wouldn’t be the same? So what if it was all so confusing, in a way that almost made her miss the awful routine of Ouroboros? Mirtala would find a way to roll with it—she was an Aquato, after all. And she was good at keeping her head above water—

She’d had to be, to survive Ouroboros.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted back into consciousness slowly.

The first thing to register was pressure at his back; the next, a faint beeping. His mind rolled around in his skull as the rest of the world slowly drifted into reality around him, like water trickling down a wall. His limbs felt sort of distant, muted, his whole body kind of vaguely floaty in a way that his muddled brain didn’t care to puzzle through.

He groaned, attempting to sit up and ask Mirtala how last night’s fight had gone—

(Fire in the stands, rent metal debris all over the arena—)

Muffled pain shot through his bones. He couldn’t move his right arm or his left leg, his throat was unreasonably dry and that stupid beeping wouldn’t stop—

Oh.

Oh, he was in a hospital. Or something like that. There was a cuff around his wrist connected to the frame around his bed, leather-wrapped metal pulling taut when he tried to move his left arm. But… he’d been in the Death Pit, hadn’t he? How had he managed—

(A fist like a sledgehammer impacting his gut, a backhand that made his head spin—)

Dion groaned again. His everything hurt in a distant way—some kind of painkiller? The room smelled like antiseptic. He craned his head to look around—yep, some kind of hospital or infirmary or whatever. There was nobody else in the room—

Mirtala! Shit, where was his sister, what had happened to her—

“Oh!” Dion’s head snapped over to the door—oh, fuck, he moved it too fast, eughhhh—the nurse was at his side in an instant, as Dion blinked up at them. “Here, let me—” They did something to adjust the bed Dion was laying on, and suddenly he was sitting upright, braced against the fold of the bed. “Is that better?”

Dion hmmed affirmatively. “Where… am I?” He asked, despite the dry throat.

“You’re at Clay Ridge Hospital,” The nurse explained, rattling off the name of a town Dion didn’t recognize. “You suffered several injuries—though it looks like you’re healing well! The doctor can give you a full rundown once she’s in.” Yeah, Dion kind of figured he was injured, what with the injuries clear as day all over him—

“Can you tell me your name?” The nurse asked.

“Dion.” Dion answered. “Aquato.” He added, after a moment of thought.

The nurse nodded, mouth opening to ask another question—

“Oh, good, he’s lucid.” Dion looked at the woman who had entered the room. She was wearing a striped suit, short curls falling over one eye, a clipboard floating at her side—

Dion’s eyes narrowed. He was at a hard disadvantage, what with the broken arm and whatever was going on with his ankle—not to mention the cuff on his left wrist. Still, he watched warily as the woman approached, as though he would actually be able to put up a fight.

“Oh, Dr. Forsythe!” The nurse greeted. “I didn’t know you were in today.” Forsythe nodded at the nurse, clipboard still floating at her side.

“So you’re the doctor?” Dion asked, staring at the floating clipboard. Maybe she was like Tammy, or Raz—oh, who was he kidding. He was fucked, wasn’t he?

“I’m a doctor.” Forsythe agreed, as the nurse left the room—no no don’t leave him alone with a fortune teller—“But not yours.” She grabbed the clipboard, unclipping a folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “Currently, I am the Second Head of the Psychonauts.”

“Then why are you here?” Dion grit out, leaning back as though he might physically melt into the bed. Where was Mirtala—was she okay? Had she been taken by fortune tellers, or cops, or something worse that Dion couldn’t think of?

“Because you’ve caused quite the ruckus with that little stunt of yours.” Forsythe explained, like tha made any sense. She was writing something on the paper, though Dion couldn’t make out what. “You did murder Ethan C. Reed right in front of one of our agents.” Dion could vaguely remember doing that.

Dion would have crossed his arms if he could. “‘S not like he didn’t deserve it.” He argued.

Forsythe leveled him with an unimpressed look. After a moment, she continued. “Regardless, your situation is… complicated. As nice as it would be to put you right back with your family—” Ha, like any sane Aquato who didn’t obsess over nerdy comics would ever go near a powerful fortune teller— “—there’s the matter of the ongoing investigation into Ouroboros, and your own involvement.” She slipped the sheet of paper back into the folder, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “So you’ll be remaining in Psychonauts custody until we can get that sorted out.”

Oh good god, Dion was being held prisoner by psychic cops. Ohhhh he was so fucked—

“And my sister?” Dion cut in, as a new fear entered his mind.

“Your sister doesn’t have a body count.” Forscythe responded flatly. Dion’s eyes narrowed; that wasn’t an answer to his question.

Forsythe continued speaking. “It’s better than FBI custody—really, once you’re cleared for discharge you won’t actually be very far from your family.” Her voice had softened slightly, for all that Dion didn’t quite believe her. “Your brother isn’t sharing his dorm with anyone—” what— “and what the FBI doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

Dion sputtered, choking on nothing. “Brother—” Oh god, what had Raz gotten himself into this time? Or—or was it Queepie—

Forsythe grimaced. “There’s a lot you’ll need to catch up on.” She stood. “But it’ll be better if you hear it from your family directly.” She made her way for the door, and turned back to say one last thing. “Visiting hours are over for today, but they’ll be in tomorrow. Dr. Wilson will be in soon.” The door closed behind her, leaving Dion alone in a room he couldn’t escape and probably shouldn’t try to leave. She left more questions than she had answered—

And Dion’s throat was still unreasonably dry.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala rocked back and forth on her feet as her parents talked to the receptionist. She wanted to run around in circles yelling at them to hurry up—but Frazie’s hand was heavy on her shoulder. At least Queepie looked similarly impatient—though he was probably just bored. At least Raz was definitely impatient, rocking back and forth and standing on one of his brain stuff balls to see over the counter as the receptionist confirmed where Dion was. Nona hovered towards the back of the group, watchful eye on the children.

The moment the Aquatos had the go-ahead, Mirtala launched herself down the hall, ignoring her mother’s calls to slow down. Room 239, 240, 241—there! The door opened easily. “DIDI!”

Dion blinked. He was sitting up, leaning back against the pillows propping him up. His arm was in a cast, his leg similarly immobilized in a sling. There was a faded bruise along his jawline. But most important of all: he was alive. He had won.

(Just like he always did, when it mattered—)

Mirtala ran up, launching herself up the chair and onto the bed. Dion wheezed as she landed not quite to the side of him, her knee smacking into his side. “Tala, ribs—”

But Mirtala didn’t have it in herself to care. “You big dummy!” She was scolding him, hands on his shoulder as she put her face up in front of him so he could tell how serious this was, “We’re supposed to stick together!” She jabbed her finger in his face as he sputtered, “And you’re not supposed to die!”

“Wh—I’m not dead!” Dion protested.

“You almost were!” Mirtala riposted. She opened her mouth to continue—

“Mirtala, topolina, don’t rush ahead—!” Dion’s eyes widened as their mother entered the room. Donatella froze in the doorway at the sight of him, hands over her mouth. After a moment, she rushed forwards, the rest of the family filing in behind her and spreading around the bed.

“My son,” Augustus started, face going slack.

“Oh.” Dion nearly squeaked, as Donatella scooped Mirtala up into her arms—to much protest. Mirtala wiggled free, dropping down onto the chair and clambering up onto the back of it to remain level with Dion. “You’re all—” He sounded… not quite small, but like—

(a hand ghosting over her back before pulling away, the silence painful—)

Mirtala gripped the back of the seat. Queepie crawled up beside her, squinting at Dion like he didn’t quite believe he was real. “You look different.” He said, pointing at Dion. “are you really Dion?”

Dion snorted. He lifted his right arm to gesture towards Queepie—Mirtala’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the cuff around his left wrist. “I don’t know, are you really Queepie?” There was humor in his voice, tired as it sounded.

Queepie gasped. “Of course I am!”

Donatella clasped Dion’s hand in hers, ignoring the cast. “Oh, bambino, it is so good to see you’re okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Augustus asked. “Are they treating you well?”

Dion shrugged, then winced. “Well, I’m alive.” He replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored.” He added, annoyed.

Nona chuckled. “Nothing for you to do but heal, is that it?” She tsked, then raised her hand to her mouth to mock-whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll bust you out of here before lunch.”

“I can’t wait.” Dion agreed. He turned his attention to Frazie, who had been standing at the foot of the bed in silence. “You finally find a girlfriend who can stand to look at you?” He half-joked, making Queepie giggle.

“So much has changed!” Mirtala announced, bouncing up and down in place. “Dad’s psychic!”

Dion jerked in surprise. “What—since when was that—” He cast a helpless look to Augustus, who grinned sheepishly. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” Raz warned.

“I’ve got nothing but time.” Dion pointed out.

“Okay.” Raz nodded. “So it started when I ran away—”

“YOU WHAT?”

[erigold13261]

what's your interpretation of clairvoyance? do you think it's purely a mental perspective (and thus unaffected by any changes in how the eyes look; i.e. using clairvoyance on a dog would still provide a largely human view of the world despite dogs seeing colors differently) or would it be affected by both brain and eyes, and thus differences in how light and color are perceived would be noted?

Ooh, that’s a tough one. This has been on my mind since you sent it. Hmmmm...

Okay so, I feel like it’s a mix between the psychic’s brain interpretation and the looker’s eyes and brain connection. This is going to be hard to explain lol.

I take it like this. If Raz looked use clairvoyance on a person who is blind or visually impaired, then obviously he is not going to see things like he normally would. If the person is colorblind or has astigmatism or something like that, it would affect how Raz see’s out of the person’s eyes.

For people who still have some kind of vision, Raz will physically see things like they do, whether that be blurry (like Crispin), with blind spots, or any other kind of eye problems there are. Someone with perfect sight will allow Raz to see perfectly.

This makes me wonder about the reverse, where if someone who needs glasses, or heck is even fully blind, will they be able to see out of someone’s eyes as well? I feel like it wouldn’t be exactly as I stated before. Someone with blind spots in their eyes could potentially see completely fine out of someone’s eyes physically, but I feel like their own mind might play tricks on them and cause some fake blindness to happen when using clairvoyance.

By that I mean that a visually impaired person immediately using clairvoyance on a perfectly seeing person will see how they(the VI person) sees, with impairment and all. But after a few moments, or a few uses of clairvoyance, the visually impaired person’s brain rewires themselves so they can see out of the sighted person’s eyes perfectly.

That is what I think about the physicality of clairvoyance (at least with humans, I’ll add more later). But we know that clairvoyance is not SOLELY a physical thing because we can see what other people THINK about others. So there is a mental aspect to it as well.

When it comes to the mental aspect of clairvoyance, I feel that we as the audience are missing out on some senses. Because this is a game, all we have is visuals. But I feel like if you look through someone with clairvoyance, you are also feeling what they feel which affects how you see through their eyes.

So it’s kinda like, the people we are seeing through aren’t ACTUALLY seeing Raz as a pile of hair or as an animal mole, but because we as the audience can’t FEEL the emotions/thoughts of the looker, it is a visual thing for us. Raz can tell that Norma doesn’t trust him and see him as a mole, and possibly she does physically see him as a mole, but we as the audience NEED that visual aspect of clairvoyance.

I do like the idea that everyone sees things differently in a literal sense, but if I am being realistic, people seeing everyone as 2D drawings that look nothing like the individual doesn’t make sense, so I feel like clairvoyance is more like Raz is feeling people’s emotions and we are seeing what he is feeling from others because we can’t feel those emotions.

I think that makes sense. So clairvoyance isn’t ACTUALLY seeing people as 2D cutouts but it is physically looking through peoples eyes. It’s a combination of mental and physical connection.

NOW! Let’s talk about animals. In the game, Raz can look through animals’ eyes and see himself and how the animal sees him. However, we know from science that many animals don’t see the same kinds of colors or shapes as us (such as bats and whales using echolocation or shrimp colors lol). So when it comes to animals, I feel like we are limited behind our human brains to interpret what we see.

We can physically look out of an animals eyes, and if they have less cones than us then we see less colors, maybe less light or more light, but our human brains try to interpret it as best as it can. If the animal has more cones, or sees a completely different way than any other human has ever seen, then I think we won’t be able to properly see out of their eyes. Our brains would not be able to perceive new colors, maybe we might see in a higher definition, or be more sensitive to movement, but I do not think we could mentally see new colors. Our brains would filter it out or something like that.

Though, people who were born colorblind or deaf can get accessibility devices to help them see color or hear sounds, which is something they never processed before but are able to. However, their human body was still able to do those functions as other humans. They didn’t just get the ability to see infrared or ultraviolet light, or hear super low or high frequencies.

Seeing, hearing, touching or anything else, outside of the human experience is not something humans will be able to do without some kind of help or middle man to process the information. So I don’t think psychics will be able to see properly out of a shrimp’s eyes or hear things at a higher frequency if they clairvoyanced a dog (and yeah, after talking about all this, I do feel like you’d also get the other senses if you use clairvoyance on someone).

I don’t know if this is making any sense, but to put it simply, I think clairvoyance is something both physical and mental. You are mentally connecting with another being’s physical body and how they mentally process information that you then have to mentally process as well. If the information is something outside the realm of possibility for a human to naturally experience I feel like our minds would filter or limit the information so we could process it.

Though I am sure there are special cases (such as the Boole family) that might be able to experience SOME animal experiences/senses because of their grand psychic ability. Or just any of the Psychic 7 using the Astralathe probably allowed them to experience the full clairvoyance of many animals (I am betting Otto wanted to see shrimp colors). But yeah, I think clairvoyance is both a mental and physical psychic ability that has limits because of the human brain not being able to mentally process every bit of information or physically override visual impairment.

[my-makeshift-masquerade]

Riva Remembers

(A cheesy title for a fic I wrote while in the midst of an emotional breakdown, haha… I figured I’d post it on here because people seem to like my artwork of this OC so far. This is my first time writing these characters. Also I am on mobile and super duper tired from the aforementioned breakdown, so please pardon the long post. I have no idea how to put the read more thing on this… Regardless I hope someone enjoys this, I guess.)

“Agent Cruller, it’s me! Raz! I need to talk to you—“

“Sorry, senior staff only!” The old man in the mailroom office replied coldly, turning back to sorting the piles of letters with telekinesis.

“Don’t you know who I am?!” Nick’s voice came from farther into the mailroom, “I’m telling my dad!”

Razputin suddenly got an idea… He raced down to find his mentor standing there, eyes looking off in two separate directions. Another figure he recognized was on the verge of a nervous breakdown right next to him… Actually she looked like she had already been through multiple breakdowns before he even got here.

“Mr. Johnsmith?! Come on! It’s me! N-nick?!” The teen ran pale hands through her short brown hair, “Th-this is terrible! I am dead for sure!”

“Postage stamps…are scratch and sniff…” The pot-bellied man mumbled nonsensically beside her.

“Whoa, whoa, Riva…” The ten year old’s expression softened, “I was the one who found his brainless body… What do you mean you’re dead?”

“N-norma…she… t-told everyone I…”

“She thinks YOU’RE the mole?!” The child was taken aback, slightly angered even, “Why?!”

“I-I don’t know…M-maybe it’s because I didn’t notice the body before you…?” Riva sniffled, “It doesn’t matter… Agent Foresythe is going to have me detained…o-once she hears about this…”

“What?! No way!” He looked at her with determined eyes, “Don’t worry! I have a plan! I am going to get a new brain for Nick’s body, so he can let me into the mailroom office! Once I get there, I will be one step closer to proving you’re innocent!”

“Y-you really think… I-I’m innocent…?” Her tear filled blue eyes looked at him as if confused by his faith in her.

“I know you are!” He nodded, “Hey! Can you watch Ford for me until I get back? Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere!”

“F-ford…?” The other intern’s eyes narrowed at that name, as if she were squinting to see through a thick fog, “Ford…why does… Oh! Ford Cruller, right… He’s one of the psychic 6…” She shook her head, “Sorry, I am just…all over the place… These panic attacks take a lot out of me…”

“It’s all going to be okay.” The younger of the two gently took the other’s hand, waving to Nick before walking up to the office room, “Agent Cruller! This is my friend! She works in the mailroom—!”

“If she isn’t senior staff, that door ain’t openin’!” Ford declared before the boy could finish.

“Oh, I know!” Raz nodded, “This is Riva. She is having a hard time right now, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Maybe you two could talk or something?”

“Eh?! Oh, sure…sure thing…” The senior sounded slightly jostled for a moment, before returning to his distant demeanor, “Chit chat makes the sortin go faster…”

“Great!” The boy smiled at Riva before racing up to the exit of the mailroom, “I’ll be back as soon as possible!”

Soon after the sound of footsteps and levitation bubbles faded, the remaining intern heard the door creak open.

“Riva…” Cruller’s voice sounded slightly shaken, “I… Is it really you…?”

“S-sir…?” She frowned, “I-I don’t think we’ve met before…”

“Ah… I shoulda known you would’ve repressed it all…” He looked at the floor grimly, “They feared what you could become if you knew…”

“…W-what…?” The teen stepped away as the agent stepped closer, reaching a hand out to her. Eventually, she was against a wall.

“You…really were damaged by the feedback…weren’t you, kid…?” His bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Back at Whisperin Rock… you remember that place, right…?”

Oh, that summer camp she got kicked out of only mere days in because she wasn’t even a real psychic?

“Yes, that’s the one.” Cruller answered her thoughts telepathically, “Except… you are psychic, Riva… Always have been… They just wanted you to believe you weren’t…so they could let you go back to society…”

Go…back…? Why wouldn’t she have been allowed to be in society if she was psychic? Isn’t that what the psychonauts are all about?

“You had potential, unlike what Nein Vodello and myself had ever seen from such a young mind… until Raz showed up, of course, but he was slightly older than you were…” He finally grabbed both of her hands, encasing them in his own, “You had such a gift with clairvoyance… it was beyond what the psychonauts ever thought was possible…”

“W-Wait…” She blinked, “You know Raz then? Why didn’t you just let him in the office…?”

“He’s not ready to learn the dark truths I’ve got tucked away in this old noggin…” The old man sighed, “I-I’m not ready for em, either… but… you are. You need to know the truth about yourself… You need to stop disregarding me when I say this: You ARE psychic…”

“B-BUT I’M NOT!” Riva tried to pull her hands away from him, to which he gently released them from their hold, “T-THAT CAMP WAS THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME! I THOUGHT I WOULD FIND SOMEWHERE I BELONGED, THAT I WAS GOOD FOR SOMETHING! B-but… I wasn’t… I-I was so full of myself to think I was special! M-My brains just BROKEN—“

“Stop it right there.” His voice became firmer, “Listen to me, before someone comes! Your potent clairvoyance meant we didn’t need any altering technology to convince you of a lie… You are so in tune with other people’s viewpoints and perspectives… you don’t even know what your reality is anymore… Other people tell you who you are, what you do, where you go. No more playin pretend, Riva.”

“I-I…b-but…”

“You were a psychic of high potential even at age 7, with budding specialities in clairvoyance, and hydrokinesis….” He smiled, “You… you made friends with every single piece of me, kid… I took you under my wing to teach you what I knew… but hydrokinesis… was a feared ability due to…well… another incident... When that secret spilled…”

“N-no… I-I can’t be… I-I don’t remember any of this!“

“Nein feared that your age, your diagnosis of autism, both combined with your psychic potential could result in you developing powerful abilities beyond even your own control…” Ford shook his head, “Headquarters wanted to lock ya up for observation in a psychoisolation facility for life… but, Sasha found a loophole. By having someone tell you that their biased perspective was reality, your brain would doubt its own perception, and start to believe them. That’s how we managed to let you leave that campsite with your family…”

By this point Riva was speechless, as countless memories she thought she had selfishly dreamed about returned to her. She fell to her knees, staring at nothing as she was flooded with all that she had forgotten. The ruthless bullying at camp, and their sabotaging of her efforts to learn to use her powers… That time they tried to drown her in the lake and she washed them all ashore on accident… the horror on everyone’s faces… It all actually happened?!

There were some happy things hidden in the mess, though… The time she’d spend drawing the wildlife out there, the cool places to explore… and the single friend she made at camp… That’s right, the cook was always there to comfort her after the other kids picked on her… No, wait, it was the ranger… But then why’d she remember a janitor, and a man watching over the canoes…? Why did they all look the same, identical even…? Then there was one more in a psychonauts uniform…

“There ya go. Now you’re getting it…” His frail hand grabbed one of hers, helping her up with a chuckle. “I should look more familiar to ya now, eh?”

She made eye contact again, and felt so stupid for not noticing this before. Riva always had an interest in the psychonauts, because they seemed like they could tolerate different minds. If her family could afford it, she would even read True Psychic Tales, mainly because she admired the illustrations. How could she not realize she knew Ford “The Founder Of This Whole Place” Cruller until now?!

Yet, at the same time, she felt her eyes water. It was nice to know she had a friend back then, even if he was old enough to be her grandpa. She didn’t say a word, and extended her free arm as an invitation…for something she definitely needed and wouldn’t want to get from Nick. The agent understood, and they hugged for a brief moment. She felt like this had happened before.

“I-I… I’m glad to see you, Mr. Cruller, b-but…” She quickly shifted back to worrying, “I-I am not in the best situation to do much of anything regarding the truth right now… I know Norma is telling Hollis I am the spy in the psychonauts… I-I am going to get locked up in the end anyway… T-they didn’t believe me before… Why would they believe me now—?”

He was gone.

The intercom sounded, with Hollis’ sharp voice ringing out, “Would Riva Beckons please come to the main area IMMEDIATELY!”

[britishsass]

just a quike question what do you think about the aqutous whould look like in the DWC au? (just some food for thought)

Sorry to keep you waiting-- I'm still planning on doing the art request, just... Gonna take me a long time, as you've likely already noticed.

I can give basic ideas here. But I'll try to draw em later on.

Raz:

There are two options for Raz, depending on what you want to do with his story.

I have one where he's basically encased in porcelain and called a doll. He still does all his usual flippy tricks though.

There's also the version where he and Lili are sewn together.

Either way, he works hard to keep morale up throughout the dark circus.

Frazie:

Frazie is a centaur, mostly because of how she and Sugarcube are.

She and Gisu do, in fact, work together as a duet quite frequently! I like that idea from your videos.

She also used to work a lot with Norma and Lizzie, sort of as a support for Norma. The four of them were really close, taking care of folks.

Dion:

Dion's arms are replaced by porcelain.

As well, he's likely got some amount of metal through his body, just to keep him from collapsing under the pain of his arms being broken almost daily.

He relies solely on his mother and Gisu, and is basically aiming to protect the rest of the family.

He cares a lot about the others, but he's awful at showing it.

Donatella:

Yes. Her eye is definitely missing.

She likes to wear masks to help others feel comfortable around her.

She's likely got feet stuck in ballet shoes, and she often ends up en pointe. It's super uncomfortable. Sincerely, an ex-ballet dancer /lh

Augustus:

Augustus wears a loose suit, and his mouth is sewn shut in a tight smile.

He doesn't seem very alive anymore. He's tired, his eyes are always watching for the ringmaster.

Augustus looks the most normal, but he's also rather tall, and isn't allowed around the normal folks that much.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town (Part 1)

In the game you wake up on the beach in Chizuru with NO IDEA how you got there.

I have a little fun with it. Enjoy!

“MC!”

The children’s voices were happy and oddly squeaky. They draw you out of unconsciousness. Your body feels a bit cold, and you shiver. 

“MC!” They keep calling you. You’re lying face up but their hands are pressed against your back. They keep pushing you from below.

You take a breath and feel the cold shock of water up your nose. The choking sensation makes you want to bolt upright but something is holding you up on the surface of the water. You catch a glimpse of silver grey, rubbery skin. A thin slit in that skin opens and sprays a mist with a sharp whoosh. The children’s voices are replaced by the squealing and whistling of dolphins.

Dolphins! Their sharp pointed fins are cutting through the water. You can see their bright eyes turn to look up at you. The way their mouths curve in their snouts gives them a smile. But they were powerful, insistent creatures. The moment you tried to swim on your own, they pushed you out of the water again.

The salt water in your mouth, the frigid breeze against your sun warmed skin told you this wasn’t a dream. You’d heard stories of dolphins rescuing people before, but you’d never actually thought you’d get to experience being carried on these muscular bodies. 

There were more surrounding you. Their sparkling backs broke the surface, no doubt watching. One eventually peeled off and another replaced them and you realized they were taking turns carrying you along. The sun was about halfway across the sky now and you could see the sparkling white sand of a small beach. The beach was only a few yards wide before it hit the seawall. You could climb up the seawall by what looked like stairs that led to a main street.

You gather your arms about yourself. What little clothing had survived the ghost tooth dragon vipers was torn away by the water and water-born debris. You were completely naked. You already were in the country illegally. You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you just showed up completely exposed like this. But how would you get any clothing?

The dolphins didn’t care about this at all. They pressed forward. If they knew anything about humans, it was that humans belonged on land and, for whatever reason, they had made it their mission to get you to the land as soon as possible. They pushed you with their snouts so hard you thought you might bruise and swam so quickly, you formed a wake in the water. You were already weak from fatigue and dehydration. There was no way you could fight them.

So you are pushed like a buoy towards the shore. When the water got too shallow the dolphins were forced to turn back or risk beaching themselves. Still, they swam a close distance away. Your body was shaking at a steady constant rate and the warm sand was irresistible. You lay down and sigh.

After a bit of rest, you pick a shadier spot against the wall, out of the sun and hopefully out of the prying eyes of people walking by. The dolphins follow you, spy hopping and watching. This was all so surreal.

You were supposed to be dead.

Again.

When you were younger, you read a book about a world where there was almost no difference between heaven, hell, and the living world. People died and woke up again to a place they found familiar and only vaguely strange. The book was deliberately unsettling, meant to blur the line between reality and dreams. The protagonist wasn’t sure if he was still alive, in heaven, or in hell, and the reader was not to know either until the end.

You’re feeling this way now. You thought you had died in the Arctic ocean, only to be thrown into a chaotic dragonslaying academy. Now you thought you died, only to wake up to a school of dolphins after nearly getting eaten by a dragon.

How are you alive after all that has happened? Maybe you weren’t alive. Maybe this was hell and you were suffering multiple deaths. The dolphins chattered brightly ahead of you, but now their sounds seemed more like they were mocking you, naked, on the sand alone, alive again with no friends.

There was no sign of Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang or Caesar Gattuso. Were they saved by dolphins too? Or left to drown and be eaten? Was God only with you and not with them? Your mind starts to form an idea. You can test out this theory. Worst case scenario was that you died for real and you’d long since gotten over that fear.

You stand up and brush the sand off your bare bottom. You would take your time to rest and hide out until night fell and then use the dark to your advantage. 

Fatigue made you sleep longer than you wanted. Darkness has truly fallen when you wake up, stiff and achy. A greyish mat of sand has stuck to your whole body. You look back towards the ocean, but the dolphins are gone. You waddle out on wobbly legs and wash the sand away. After so much time in the water, the feel of it on your skin was suddenly abhorrent and you would be happy if you never spent another day in the ocean as long as you lived.

The theory that you’re actually dead and none of this was real was again challenged by how hard it was to make it up the stairs. You were so exhausted, starving and dehydrated that you swayed. You’d give anything for a bowl of hot ramen, served up fresh with a bit of egg floating on top.

You heard a voice cry out. A young couple was out for a stroll and had spotted you. You must look like a monster, hair long and matted and no clothes at all. Sure enough, they back away moaning with trembling voices before turning to run off, screaming something you can’t understand. Further up towards the street, you see bright lights. The smell of vendors cooking street food makes your stomach rumble. You couldn’t be out in the open, but maybe if you got close enough, you could dumpster dive and find some clothes. You sneak behind the back of the nearest building, a stucco box with a small front yard. The young man of the couple returns with a few other people. He’s speaking breathlessly, pointing towards the ocean. Poor guy. No doubt he thought he’d seen some ghost girl come from the ocean. This is probably something that would traumatize him for life.

You hear a small noise next to you. A little black cat is pawing at you. You could barely see it in the shadows. It didn’t care that you weren’t wearing clothes. Its fur was soft and warm and its purrs were comforting. You run your hand over its head and ears and it crawls into your lap. You would have liked to own a cat someday. You always liked them. They were funny and cute and very affectionate like this one. When you raise your eyes, your heart leaps. There are clothes hanging on a clothesline from a house not too far away!

You scramble quickly towards it, careful not to step on anything that might make noise. You check every gap to make sure that no one can see you. Then as soon as you reach the clothing, you carefully yank it off the line. It was just one of the local school uniforms. The white button down top was a bit small, but the wine-colored skirt fits you just fine around the waist. You were only a bit older than Renata when she died so this was probably the outfit of a highschool student.

Your eyes fall on the back door of the house. That’s right, Japanese don’t wear shoes in the house. These shoes were laid out neatly on the rack. You glance around and carefully approach, snatching what you hope will fit you. They’re just the right size, much to your shock. This surprise is enough to send a jolt of happiness through you. Now clothed, you return to the cat and pick it up in your arms and walk out on the street. The first thing you saw was a sign that said, Chizuru.

Before arriving in Japan, Norma, the school AI had told you about a place called Chizuru being a safe haven and to find an Internet Cafe there if you ever got into trouble. The hairs rose on the back of your arms. How could this be possible that dolphins not only save your life, but take you directly to the place that you needed to be? You sang the song that said ‘God is with you’ but it was supposed to be a metaphor right? 

You approach a man on the street who looks at you with a stunned expression. “I… excuse…”

Before you can ask anything, he shakes his head again and again and flees from you. “Wait! I need…”

You try again, this time of one of the vendors, an old craggy-faced man who stares at you with a black expression until you give up.

Burned, you just decide to wander around until you see something that looks like an internet cafe. It wouldn’t be in a neighborhood. More likely closer to the city center, on a main street. You head that way, away from the beach and the houses. The city center seems much quieter than you would expect it to be. You stop.

A group of people are standing on the street, five men in black leather jackets displaying flaming Oni masks. One had a wild looking tall mohawk dyed red. His black jeans reached down to black leather boots studded with silver spikes. It was as if the black dragon that tried to eat you had turned human and walked on land.

He turned his head and spotted you. It was too late to hide. His eyes ran up and down the length of you and he grinned, and made a slow whistling noise. You may have been raised in an orphanage but you weren’t that naive to not know what that smile meant. You’d seen it before on some of the staff who liked to take advantage of the older girls there. 

So you didn’t need to know the vulgar words coming out of their mouth.  You set the kitten down on a nearby trash can and pat it on the head, quietly telling it to stay in Russian. The cat obliged, and started to clean its paws.

In the orphanage, you were taught hand to hand basics until you were strong enough to actually use it in a fight. The trainings were very light against each other and you weren’t allowed to cause injury, but there was no gender splitting. You were only hybrids. Whether you were male or female, it didn’t matter so long as you had dragonblood in your veins.

Because of your background, you didn’t show the same innocent fear that these men may have been accustomed to from someone your age, in that clothing. You stared them straight in the eyes, your arms at your side, not moving forward or back. This nonchalant attitude made them stand there in brief bewilderment. The one with the mohawk was clearly the bolder of the five and he shouted something at you that you don’t understand. You just shake your head.

“I need to find the Internet Café…” You make a gesture with your hands to pantomime typing at a computer. They started to laugh, elbowing each other and nodding. You sigh. You’re so tired and it showed on your face.

Your lack of Japanese and your weary expression was an invitation to attack and they approached you now.

In the orphanage, no one would approach you like this in such a joking manner. Especially not on the training grounds. The Mohawk’s hands were relaxed. He was confident. He wasn’t watching your hands ball into fists as tight as stones and he wasn’t watching the sudden shift in your feet as you moved into a sturdy stance. He reached out with his hand to your elbow. So he was unable to block or dodge your fist that struck him like lightning.

He didn’t just feel pain or stagger back. The man felt flat to his side, straight to the pavement, and he didn’t get up. The eyes of his four friends followed him down with a stunned feeling. You knew that feeling. Like they suddenly found themselves in a fantasy world where a high school girl in a school uniform could knock out a gangster with a single hit? 

Maybe this was a fantasy world and you were a fantasy high schooler. After all, you were carrying a cat!

They all turned to you in unison and you attacked the next one, levering back on one leg and slamming him with a kick to the solar plexus. He staggered back, wheezing, curling in on himself, once or twice.. 

The next one now had the wherewithal to produce a switchblade. He swung it wildly at where your heart should have been, but the blouse was a bit open where it was too tight and he caught a glimpse of the fact that you’re not wearing anything underneath. Your hand caught his wrist and you pulled hard, driving your knee directly into his crotch.

His grip on the knife released as he slowly sank to the ground and you swiped it easily. You give it a toss and catch it by the handle. Now the smile is on your face and there’s no pleasure in it as you stare down the final two gangsters.

One gives up and turns to run, arms pinwheeling comically as his oni mask jacket flapped in the breeze created by his own flight.

The last one was backing away, stumbling over his feet, crawling back upright. And when he does get up, you see something in his hand, shiny and black.

A gun. You hadn’t seen one in a while and you stopped. You couldn’t do anything about this. He just needed to pull the trigger and you were gone. But this was a world where you couldn’t die… right?

A man in a white shirt and black slacks leaped out from behind a car and a bright metal arc gave off sparks as it neatly cut the gun in half. Chu Zihang’s sword then rested its edge on the man’s throat

The man stared at his severed gun in silence a moment before he noticed the blade.

“Senpai!” You joyfully run forward and wrap your arms around Zihang.

Zihang looks bewildered, unsure of what to do. His free hand hovers over your shoulder… head… and then he settles on patting you on the back.

The man at his mercy is trembling in terror at the discovery that this warrior girl in a school uniform somehow has a ‘Senpai’ at all. His companions are already staggering away, one of them limping and bowlegged as he flees. 

Chu Zihang raised his hand and rubbed his thumb and fingers together in the universal sign for ‘money’. You stick his tongue out at him.

The man was quick to oblige, tossing him his wallet.  Chu Zihang lowered his sword. After examining the contents, he picked out a few bills and handed the man his wallet back but he was already running away.

“Were you just going to let him shoot you?” He asked.

You opened your mouth. “Yes… but!” You raise a finger to halt objections. “I knew something would happen to keep me from dying!”

Chu Zihang shook his head slowly. “Where’s Lu Mingfei and Caesar?”

Your expression sobers. “I don’t know. I was looking for the Internet Cafe…”

He walks over to a vending machine and puts in the money to buy you something to eat. You return to where the cat is resting on the trash can. “What a good kitty!” You whisper, ,gathering it up in your arms.

“You shouldn’t keep that.” The Machine is pouring out noodles with soup broth base. Your stomach rumbles and the cat meows.

“Is there something for Kitty?” You ask.

Chu Zihang sighs again. The man gave the whole wallet, after all. Chu Zihang orders some dried squid for the cat.

In a few moments both you and Kitty are sitting against the building. You’re so hungry that you scald your mouth on the soup, but you don't care. Chu Zihang is silent, still standing guard and watching. With your hunger sated, you look up at him. “You’re the team lead right?”

“Only if I find out Caesar is dead.”

“You think he’s alive? Do you want me to call you boss?”

“No.”

“Okay boss.”

You look up at him and he’s scowling at you, not in the mood for your jokes, or your kitten. “How did you survive?”

“You’re not going to believe this. A pod of dolphins brought me all the way here.”

Much to your surprise he believes you. “That’s true. The dolphins here are very friendly to the locals. In fact there was a story I read about that...”

There was a sudden cacophony of roaring engines. Chu Zihang grabs you and together you duck behind the parked cars. Motorcycles, dozens of them, are all roaring off in one direction, their lights streaming towards a single destination. Among them were vans filled with people with automatic weapons. Right after that, all the lights go out in Chizuru. From the tallest building, to the smallest house, even the lights illuminating the advertisements go dark. 

Chu Zihang sighed deep in his chest. “I have a bad feeling Caesar is that way.”

[feel-mobile]

Psychoswap: To the Top of Thorny Towers

“Alright! I did it! Now just to climb up this tower. And here I am. In a straightjacket. Talking to myself. Okay enough with this disguise!” 

Lucy stepped out of the elevator, stowing away the pom pom, paper drawing, and straightjacket. 

“The things I do for Ford’s brain…”

Lucy put her hands on her hips, staring down the hallway in front of her. Things looked normal enough, but Lucy had seen how tall this tower was. If only she had access to that other elevator! Then she could ride it straight to the top.

For now, it was time to do it the hard way. Lucy began walking, but what was that squeaking sound? Lucy looked down at her feet just in time to see a rat explode in her face.

“Aghh! Confusion gas!” Lucy gagged, stumbling backwards. There was still more squeaking, more of them must be on their way. And Lucy couldn’t even tell where she was going. Not until the gas wore off. Oh no, she could see more of the rats on their way. Lucy quickly grabbed the lighter Norma gave her, and waved it by her ear.

“Ooh, careful not to set your hair on fire,” Norma said as she popped out of Lucy’s ear. “What’s the situation?”

“Have you ever been confused by a rat?” Lucy asked. 

“Ugh, constantly!” Norma complained. “The trick is to set them on fire, then they can’t explode in your face.”

“Thanks Agent Natividad, nothing more to report,” Lucy said.

“Good luck, kid,” Norma said as she left.

“Alright, rats,” Lucy said, readying her pyrokinesis. “Get ready to be gross little marshmallows!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Lucy ran through the hallways, setting the rats on fire as she went. She twirled across one of the bars jutting out of the ground, and then swung off another bar and onto the ground with a flip. There was even a brain lying in the corner.

“Crispen Whytehead,” she said. “Huh, his brain really does feel as greasy as his hair.”

Everything seemed fine until she suddenly heard a noise from around the corner.

“Hello? Anyone there?” she asked, but only saw a glimpse of orange move away from the window.

“What the-” she muttered, and then ran over to the window. But there was nothing there. “Huh. Weird.”

This wasn’t a waste of time though, as there was a brain in the corner.

“Milla Vodello!” Lucy exclaimed. “I swear I can hear music.”

Eventually Lucy made it to an open area, gross green slime bubbling underneath.

“Ew, I’ll make sure to avoid that,” she said to herself, and then heard another noise of someone following her. “Hey!! Who's there!”

Lucy, now annoyed, looked around the wall but didn’t see anyone. Who was following her! She walked back around to the roof, and started to climb up. She had to remember that this was the real world. If she fell, she would die for real. Just don’t look down! She could do this, easy!

Coming across a little ledge, Lucy found another brain, setting rats on fire as she went over to it.

“Sasha Nein!” she said. “I’ll put it next to Milla’s.”

There was that noise again. At this point Lucy was ignoring it, there were more important things to worry about. Like making sure she didn’t fall when swinging across these gaps. A bit of rocks crumbled beneath Lucy’s feet, and she slipped and fell, pulling out her thought bubble to float down to the ground just in time.

“Are you kidding me?!” she groaned as she realized she would have to climb all the way back up again. Better get started.

After ten more minutes, she was almost to the top. There was another brain!

“Truman Zanotto! ! I told you I’d find your brain!”

Lucy pulled herself through the hole in the floor, and then climbed up the broken rails to some stairs. 

“Get out of here!”

“Hey! Who said that!” Lucy said, looking around for the source of the voice. There was no one. Ugh, this was so frustrating! Guess she better continue climbing. But then, with a loud sound like thunder, someone appeared in front of her, startling her.

“This is your last warning!” A woman in an orange spacesuit said. “Leave this place at once!”

“Who- what-” Lucy said, but the woman was already gone. “Well that was weird. I’m gonna just… keep going.”

Lucy walked up the stairs and over to another elevator, going straight up. She had reached the top of the tower, some stairs leading up to the room above.

“Almost there!” she said to herself quietly, and ascended up the stairs. Until she spotted a bird hitting a button, and the stairs turned into a slide, sending her back down.

“Rude,” she muttered, and turned invisible, able to pass right by the bird. That event would not be elaborated on again.

“All of these brains are worthless, Chloe, worthless!” Lucy heard as she climbed up the ladder, seeing ZIlch stalking around his sad excuse for a lab. “What do I have to do to get a good brain around here!”

“Zilch, you asked me to retrieve the brains of children, I don’t know what you expected,” Chloe said, deadpan. Lucy recognized her as the lady she had seen before.

“Psychic children! Children with unnatural powers that can take over the world! They should be powerful! Bring me more brains, Chloe!”

“We need to work on you, Bobby,” Chloe sighed.

Lucy climbed into the room, hiding behind a table. There were three jars nearby, each of them labeled with a photograph. Those were Dogen, Phoebe, and Quentin’s brains! Zilch wasn’t leaving them alone though. She would have to find a way to get them. Lucy crawled out from under the table and snuck towards the door, but she was noticed before she could make it.

“Aha!” Zilch exclaimed. “What’s this? It’s a brain! This must be the package the blonde lady mentioned. We’ll just need to extract the needed brain. Chloe!!!! Bring this brain up to the room with the others, I’ll deal with that next!”

“I tried to warn you, kid,” Chloe said, and grabbed her arm, dragging her out the door and up the ramp. Which just happened to be where she wanted to go anyway.

“Hey- why are you working for that man! He’s stealing everyone's brains!” Lucy said as they reached the top of the room.

“I know. But I chose him to study because I believe he may be like me. Also, I can fix him.”

“Like you?”

“An ambassador from the stars. A lost alien.”

“Oh.”

“I do not agree with his employer’s wishes to take over the world, but I still agree to help him. Why? Because Zilch has my private captive. While he would never hurt me- I have guessed this is because of the thing humans call ‘romantic attraction’ -he does want to ensure that I will continue to bring him brains.”

“So you’re still gonna help him with taking over the world?”

“I’d rather not. But again, he has Private Linda. If he didn’t, I may be able to help you instead.”

“Fine, I’ll rescue this Linda person for you. But this better not be a double crossing!” Lucy said, and then finally went into the room at the top of the tower.

“Lucy! You came to save me!”

Ford was inside of the room, trapped in a psychic lock. In three other chairs were the other agents.

“Ford! Of course I did, I wasn’t going to let you get eaten by a turtle!” Lucy said. “Oh no, is that Dogen, Phoebe, and Quentin’s brainless bodies?”

“Yeah, this has been the most boring five hours of my life, after that creepy doctor gave up on trying to make me sneeze out my brains, I’ve just been sitting here with these guys,” Ford complained.

Great that she showed up. Just when my cold was starting to go away. Now we can kiss. Wait, did she-

Lucy, having heard that, simply smiled.

“Hey, stop reading my mind! And help me get this stupid lock off instead!”

“I’ll need the others help first, I can’t break it with one psi-blast,” Lucy told him. “But I’ll be able to get their brains back soon!”

“Okay, make sure to get Otto too.”

“Huh?”

“On the table.”

Sure enough, there was a jar with a blurry picture of Otto on it. His brain was inside of it.

“Got it. Rescue missions like this are very delicate operations. Chloe, wait here while I go save your friend. But first I’ll have to make a stop back at HQ to rebrain some kids.”

“Roger that,” Chloe said with a nod.

----------

As soon as Norma had teleported her back after rebraining the kids, Lucy had snuck back into the lab. Now where was Linda? There was no other person in the room, only Zilch and some fish in the corner.

“This brain is no good,” Zilch snapped, throwing it back down onto the table. “I tell you Linda, they just don’t make brains like they used to anymore!”

Hold on, was he talking to the fish? He was. So Linda was the fish. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised at this point,” Lucy said quietly, and then crept over to the fish tank. When Zilch had his back turned, she carefully picked up the bowl with her telekinesis.

“Okay um. Linda?” she whispered as she moved the bowl. “I’m gonna get you out of here, don’t make any loud noises!”

The fish just stared at her blankly. Lucy caught the bowl in her hands, and then quietly walked backwards and out of the room, not being caught by Zilch at all.

“Chloe, I got your… fish!” Lucy said once she had run back up the ramp outside.

“You did? Oh, excellent job! Now she can tell us our plan!” Chloe said, grinning.

“Um. Okay,” Lucy said, not believing her. She handed over the fishbowl, and Linda swam to the top.

“Okay Private, I hope you thought of a good plan while you were down there. What do you have?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, Commander!” the fish replied, much to Lucy’s shock. “I’ve got a plan, just listen closely. Give Zilch my brain, and then when his back is turned, we can have the little girl throw me into that death-car prototype nearby. Then, I’ll shoot him out the window.”

“Private, I thought we discussed we aren’t killing him!”

“Don’t worry, Commander! We’ve got someone else helping. Sam will be down at the bottom of the tower to catch him.”

“Good. Another extraterrestrial helping out. And he knows not to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“It’s settled then. Alright little girl,” Chloe said, now talking to Lucy. “You better hurry. The blonde lady is going to be back soon.”

“Got it,” Lucy said. “You do your part of the plan, and I’ll do mine.”

----------

“Bobby, I’ve got another brain for you!” Chloe announced, holding out Linda’s brain, which was weirdly big for a lungfish.

“You do?” Zilch said, sounding excited. “Well hand it over then! Thanks, Chloe. I knew I could count on you.”

Chloe nodded, and then left the room, Lucy sneaking in. She picked up the brain, and tossed it into the death-car. Then it unceremoniously shot Zilch out the window, and all he had time to do was scream.

“That’s for stealing my friend’s brains!” Lucy said. “Wow. I thought it would be more.. eventful than that. Is that really it?”

She went over to the window, looking outside. Yeah, he was gone. Lucy shrugged, that was easy enough. She picked up the three jars with brains in them and carried them out the doorway.

----------

Lucy stood there patiently as Dogen, Phoebe, and Quentin all came back to their senses.

“Wow, I am going to have a headache for weeks!” Phoebe said.

“How did you even manage to rebrain us? That’s a very complicated process,” Quentin asked.

“Oh, I’ve been learning about it here and there, but Chloe is an expert on this.”

“And now we’re even,” Chloe said. “I need to return to my studies of planet Earth. Goodbye, Earth creatures!”

With a wave from both her and Linda, they walked out the door.

“Who was that?” Dogen asked.

“Can you guys please get me out of this dumb hat?” Ford asked.

“Oh! Right!” Phoebe said. “Come on, Lucy. Help us break him out.”

“Okay!” Lucy said, and her, Quentin, Phoebe, and Dogen all psiblasted the lock, breaking it open.

“Finally!” Ford exclaimed, jumping out of the chair. “That thing was starting to hurt my head.”

“At least he didn’t get your brain!” Phoebe said.

“You’ve surprised me again, Lucy,” Dogen said. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

“All in a day's work for a Psychonaut!” Lucy said confidently.

“Psi-Cadet, you mean,” Quentin corrected with a laugh.

“Hey, the Psychonauts should be lucky to have someone like Lucy!” Ford said. “The brain she has is-”

“Is one in a million!”

Elka was standing in the doorway, having arrived when no one was looking.

“Thank you to all of you for bringing it right to my door!”

“Doom!” Phoebe glared, stepping in front of Ford and Lucy.

“You!” Lucy said angrily, pushing in front of the adults. “You took all my friend’s brains, you turned an innocent turtle into a mutated monster, you stole all the teachers- derailing my education, and worst of all, you kidnapped my boyfriend!”

Ford nodded in agreement, stepping up to Lucy’s side.

“This fight is too big for both of you,” Quentin said.

“You know, my sister has a pet ferret,” Lucy said. “And I had to help clean up after it. So trust me when I say I know how to deal with this ugly pile of- HEY!”

Before Lucy could finish, a glowing shield appeared around her and Ford.

“Let the grown ups handle this, kids!” Quentin said, lifting them up in a pink, psychic shield.

“No fair! We get to kill him too!” Ford protested as they were levitated out of the room.

“Bring us back!” Lucy yelled as they got farther away from the room, only able to see a little bit of the psychic battle that was starting.

Elka placed a hand to her head, starting to glow with psychic powers. The other three retaliated, firing blasts at Elka, who deflected them with a shield of her own. But Lucy didn’t get to see any of that, her and Ford were placed down on the ground, the shield dissipating around them.

“Ugh! What do I have to do to make those guys take me seriously!” Lucy grumbled, kicking at a rock. But then she got a completely unrelated idea.

“We gotta go back up there,” Ford said, pacing around. “We can’t miss the whole fight! I might be able to teleport both of us back up, but it would be difficult.”

Well, when are you just gonna shut up and kiss me?

“Uh, Lucy. I can hear that,” Ford said.

“I know,” Lucy said, and then leaned in to kiss him.

----------

Meanwhile, at the top of the tower, the fight was still going on. Everything was burning thanks to a series of events that had happened down below, but the agents hadn’t noticed.

“Surrender!” Phoebe yelled.

“I would never!” Elka yelled back. They were at a standstill, even though it was three against one. Dogen, Quentin, and Phoebe couldn’t break their concentration locking Elka in place, but she could still fire at them. 

Then with a sound bang, Elka was hit by a blast of psychic energy, stunning her.

“The Psychonauts have a word for people who turn on their own, Elka,” Norma said, flying into the room. There was a large rock of psitanium strapped to her back, the only reason she could be here and still be the Norma everyone knew.

“I don’t need the Psychonauts!” Elka said, staggering to her feet. “I’m going to build my own corporation that’ll crush the Psychonauts like ants! Got a word for that?”

“Yeah,” Norma smirked, and took out some super sneezing powder. “Gesundheit!”

She blew the powder directly into Elka’s face, who then started to sneeze.

“Aaa.. aa.. AACHOO!”

The top of Thorny Towers exploded just as she sneezed, and just as Ford and Lucy started to kiss. 

“Wow…” Ford murmured when they stopped kissing.

“Wow!” Lucy said, the falling rubble catching her attention. Wait. They needed to run. Lucy grabbed Ford’s hand, pulling him out of the way of the falling rocks. There were just too many, and Lucy wasn’t fast enough to outrun them all! Several fell in front of the two kids, blocking their path. There was nowhere to go now. Just as one was about to fall on her and Ford, she pulled him close to her and put up a shield around the two of them, closing her eyes and hoping for the best.

.....

Lucy opened her eyes again, a large rock sliding off of the shield as it dissipated. She looked at Ford and smiled, taking his hand. They had survived the fall of Thorny Towers! They both walked back into what was left of the building, looking around for Dogen, Phoebe, and Quentin.

“Kids! You’re alright!” Quentin said as he landed next to them, Phoebe and Dogen following behind.

“That was my fight!” Lucy complained. “I was totally ready for it.”

“It takes years of training to be ready for a fight like that,” Phoebe said.

“You’d be surprised! This one’s been acing all my extra credit assignments!” Norma said, landing next to Lucy as well. 

“I beat Elka once before, I can do it again!”

“That was just a remote projection, yknow,” Dogen said. “Nowhere near as strong as she’d be in the real world.”

As if Dogen’s words had summoned her, Elka stumbled out of a pile of rubble.

“Teevee?” was all she said. The adults saw her, and started laughing. Nothing to worry about now, just a brainless body! But Lucy had a bad feeling.

“Wait. Where’s her brain?” she asked.

“Oh, probably stuck in one of her plans to take over the world,” Quentin said casually, walking towards the exit. Lucy looked at Ford, whose eyes widened when he realized exactly what that meant.

The ground started to shake, and the biggest fancy car that Lucy had ever seen burst out of the ground.

“Hey. How’s the weather down there, you little ants?” Elka’s voice echoed across the ruins. She shot a blast of energy, knocking out everyone except for Lucy.

“Oh no,” Lucy said, getting ready to fight.

“Finally. Alone at last, Lucrecia,” Elka said. 

“If you’re looking to pick a fight, you’ve got one!” Lucy yelled up at the giant death-car.

“Ah yes… I’ve been dying for a chance to pick your brain!” Elka cackled as she swiped a psychic claw at Lucy, other psychic hands picking up stones and rubble to throw. 

“Two can play at that game!” Lucy said, rolling out of the way.

“Yes, but only one can win! Ahahaha!”

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Note: Today is so beautiful, you all deserve this 8,000-word chapter a few days early. Thank Uncle Joe and Aunt Kamala. If you enjoy it, please leave me a little comment telling me what you liked best. They really keep me going!

Chapter 13

Nelly had never suffered stage fright in the theater, but as her taxi pulled up to the Villa, she felt like she was getting a year’s worth at once. Her taxi wasn’t the only vehicle in the front drive. A handsome red-and-black Packard was there, expelling a man in a seersucker suit and a fashionable woman who shimmered in a dress the color of a deep blue sapphire. She wished desperately for a drink. She wished that she hadn’t eaten a plate of scalloped ham and potatoes before leaving. She wished that she’d asked Buster what to wear, how to comport herself, what to say, but all she had to go on were her own acting skills and a small measure of courage. She wondered if he’d be surprised to see her show up, if he’d forgotten the invitation altogether.

She had rented her dress from Carmela’s for the handsome sum of $37. It was pale green like a luna moth and layered in silks and crepe de chine. Silver beading was stitched across the front in a design vaguely resembling a rising phoenix. She’d also purchased a white-feathered rhinestone headpiece for $12, but her necklace was her own and its green gemstones only glass. Her hair was waved, each side done up in a braided bun. For her lips she’d chosen a dark rose, and she’d applied some turquoise shadow to her lids above the kohl liner. She felt like a perfect imposter, albeit an elegant one. 

Until they’d pulled up his drive and she’d sighted the Villa, she hadn’t really understood just how rich Buster Keaton was. The residence was white and enormous, a sort of boxcar shape with both ends bent inward, with a red clay-tile roof and another large house to the left as you were approaching the Villa from the back. A long paved drive wound up the back of the house where palm trees, Mediterranean cypresses, and a carpet bed of flowers studded the hills. Buster’s easy, humble manner on the few occasions she’d interacted with him in person had made her feel increasingly at ease with him. It had begun to feel like they were on the same level. Now she realized how incorrect that feeling had been. She’d been in a few stately houses back in Evanston—those belonging to her mother’s higher-society friends—but they were nothing to the sprawling grandeur of the Villa. 

The jets of a stone fountain in the center of the front drive splashed pleasantly as Nelly stepped out of the car and tipped the driver, holding her door, with a five-dollar bill. She smiled and tried to look easy, like she belonged there and was in the habit of handing out handsome tips. Her only thought as she approached the tall arched doorway of the Villa was, I’m going to flub my lines.

It was a warm night and no one was wearing coats, but there was a maid in the foyer prepared to take them nonetheless. Just outside of the foyer, a beautiful young woman was smiling and clasping the hand of another beautiful young woman, who was accompanied by a beautiful young man. The beautiful young woman looked a whole lot like Norma Talmage and Nelly realized that she was none other than Natalie. Her heart went wild. Before she had time to think about what she would say, it was her turn to greet the hostess.

“How do you do?” she said.

“Very well. How do you do?” said Natalie, smiling. She was slim and petite, with a dark bob parted on the side and prettily waved.

“Very well. I’m Nelly. I worked with Bus—your husband—on Steamboat Bill.” She didn’t know what made her blurt it, only that Natalie was looking at her without a hint of recognition in her eyes and Nelly felt she owed an explanation for how a nobody like her ended up among the big names. She fancied that she saw something in Natalie’s expression change a little, but the smile didn’t waver.

“Very pleased to meet you. You’ll find refreshments just over there. Buster will be down in a little while. I’m sure he’ll be pleased you came.”

Nelly wanted to do something to soften Natalie’s impression of her, compliment the house or her dress, a costly-looking beaded yellow one that hit slightly above the knee, but she was already greeting the next guest.

Seven or so couples mingled in the space beyond the foyer. There were two square white columns supporting an upper level, a majestic stone staircase leading up to it on the right, and arched doorways to the left and right leading to unseen parts of the house. There were arched doorways everywhere, in fact, and a long table filled with an assortment of French hors d’oeuvre. A recessed area with white-streaked black marble steps stood at the rear of the open room, leading out to a loggia from which Nelly could just see the backyard. She itched to find the washroom so she could powder the sweat off her face.

A butler appeared at her elbow offering a cocktail and she took it at once. When she was sure no one was watching, she gulped it in one go and hid the glass on a nearby table. She had no business being here. She wondered whether she was meant to have invited somebody. All of the other couples seemed to know each other and were engrossed in conversation, and she was the only one without a partner. She stood on the checkerboard marble floor with her hands knit in front of her, smiling and trying her best to project an air of belonging.

That smile faltered when she saw who came through foyer next. It was Louise Brooks! She was wearing a low-cut black gown that revealed the cleavage of her small breasts and her lips were a deep cherry red. She was accompanied by a man that Nelly didn’t recognize. Nelly’s mouth began to go dry and she was keenly aware of how damp her underarms had become. She had nothing to anchor herself to for comfort or security. As the minutes ticked by and she remained unacknowledged by the other guests besides polite smiles and nods, she began to feel hot and dizzy. Her heart was beating rapidly. She needed to escape. She wondered if anyone would notice if she made a casual break for the loggia.

“Hey, Buster!” a man called. Some people pointed up and waved. Nelly followed their eyes and saw Buster on the second level above the loggia. He put up his hand gravely like a king recognizing his subjects and started down the stairs.

In the next horrifying moment, he lost his footing and took a hard tumble straight down. The room erupted in gasps and shouts. Buster had come to rest on his back at the foot of the stairs with his limbs splayed. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Some of the guests rushed toward him.

Then, with a mildly baffled expression, he stood up and brushed the dust off the arms of his suit jacket. Someone began clapping and pretty soon everyone joined in, laughing and cheering him. Only then did Nelly realize it had been a pratfall. She didn’t know if it was funny. The sight of him lying so still for those few heart-stopping moments had rattled her. 

“A drink?” The butler was at her elbow again.

She looked away from Buster. “Please.”

He handed her a martini glass with a little orange wedge on the side and sugar on the rim and she sipped, the spell of her own panic broken somewhat, though not for very long. Still more guests were filtering into the room. She recognized Marion Davies and Norma Talmadge with another thudding of her heart in her throat. The room seemed to be getting famouser by the minute. Buster was greeting guests a few yards away, sober and unsmiling, unaware that she was there. She wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d invited her. It seemed quite possible.

It was too much; she gave into her impulse to steal off to the loggia. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she stepped down into the recessed area, through an arched doorway, and into the loggia. White wicker furniture, potted trees, and pink orchids adorned it. Sconces on its inner walls burned with real flames, while two hanging fixtures gave a stronger light.

It felt a few degrees cooler outside. The sun had by now fallen and only a few streaks of purple remained in the sky. Nelly’s cocktail tasted of citrus, and she licked some sugar off the rim. The glow of the drinks hadn’t yet hit her. Too much scalloped ham in her stomach, she supposed. She stood next to one of the columns beneath yet another arched doorway and looked down what seemed like one hundred white marble steps, illuminated by carefully concealed electric lights, leading to the huge sunken swimming pool. The green lawn seemed to go on for miles. She still couldn’t get her head around the sheer excess of Buster’s abode. She remembered a two-reeler in which a down-and-out Buster, looking pitiful, stood in a bread line but was denied a loaf at the last minute. How humble and sad he had seemed!

“Hello,” said Buster behind her. 

She shuddered in surprise and turned around to see him walking toward her. “You always sneak up on me,” she said.

“Nelly.”

The split-second astonishment on his face told her two things. One, he hadn’t recognized her. Two, she looked as good as she thought she did. A sudden warm confidence renewed her. 

“What are you doing out here?” he said, stopping a few paces from her. He raised his own cocktail to his lips.

She took another sip of hers, deciding there was no point in not being honest. “I realized I was out of place and wanted some air.”

Buster looked at her appraisingly. He was wearing a well-tailored navy-blue suit and the flowers on his matching silk tie were embroidered in bright gilt thread. It was the prettiest tie she’d ever seen. “Thought you wanted fame and fortune,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “I want a job as an extra. I never said anything about fame and fortune.”

“What about your starring role in Shakespeare’s big talkie?” he said. Although he wasn’t smiling, it was definitely a tease. 

“I want the role. I hadn’t thought about what happens next,” she said, and it was true. She wanted to be an actress because she liked it. She wanted recognition for that acting, but it had never occurred to her, not seriously anyway, that recognition might lead to prominence or money. Now, among Hollywood’s elites in Buster Keaton’s extravagant mansion, anything seemed possible. Silence fell between them and she finished her cocktail. 

Buster said, “So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

“My house. The Villa.” He came to her side.

She met his eyes and was alarmed to feel a sort of flutter in her middle as they regarded each other. She thought of Natalie greeting her in the foyer and was disgusted with herself. “It’s, uh …” she said, distracted.

“Vulgar?”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “But it is vulgar. I think it’s wonderful as well, but it’s vulgar. You can say it.”

“If you insist,” she said, looking away from him. It was difficult to look him in the eyes now.

“You’re not being honest,” he said. 

For a panicked second, she thought he was referring to her feelings. But no, they were talking about the house. “I never thought you lived like this,” she said. “I guess I don’t know what I thought. I’m not used to it.”

Buster nodded. “You thought I was that honest boy from the pictures.”

“Well that’s how you seem when you’re working. I mean, when you’re filming a picture.”

He sipped his cocktail. “It’s expected,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the house. “When in Rome, you know.”

“Well I suppose that tells you that I’m out of place, that I’m not used to it.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you find your place.” He held out his elbow and she found she couldn’t refuse. She linked her arm in his before she was properly aware of it. His arm was warm and the material of his jacket was soft against her bare arm. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave. Her mind protested, Natalie, his wife Natalie. But she was powerless. They walked back up the steps to the recessed area, then up the other pair of steps to the checkerboard floor. The room was now noisy with conversation. A Victrola playing jazz could barely be heard.

Buster dropped her arm and stopped in front of Marion Davies and her male companion, who were near the hors d'oeuvre table sipping drinks. “Nelly, this is Marion and Dick. Marion and Dick, this is Nelly.”

“How do you do?” said Nelly, blushing. 

With formalities out of the way, the lovely blonde-haired Marion asked with a polite smile, “And what do you do, Nelly?”

“I’m a theater actress. I worked with Buster on his last picture,” she said, the answer coming out just as smoothly as if she’d rehearsed it. 

More polite conversation commenced, and Nelly began to relax. This was one of her mother’s garden parties when she was a teenager and she was practicing her charm and manners with the adults, that was all. Sure it was artificial, but that was okay. 

As soon as there was a lull in the conversation with Marion and Dick, Buster spun her toward a nearby man looking to be about forty, slightly heavy with large, broad arms. “Clarence, Nelly. Nelly, Clarence.”

Clarence ended up being Clarence Brown, who had directed Norma Talmadge in Kiki. Nelly told him that she had liked it and Buster said in a whisper, his breath hot on her ear, “Careful you don’t charm him too much, he just got divorced.”

Next, Buster turned her toward Jack Conway and his wife Virginia. She didn’t recognize his name and kicked herself for not paying more attention to title credits when Buster explained that he was Jack Conway the director. She had seen Brown of Harvard, though, and was able to find common ground with him by telling him that she liked it. She was just starting to feel like she had established a good rapport with the Conways when Buster whisked her away again. She was now faced with Louise Brooks, sparkling like the dictionary definition of sex, and her date, a slim-mouthed man in a grey double-breasted suit who did not sparkle with anything. 

“Louise and George, Nelly. Nelly, Louise and George.”

“Call him Wet Wash,” said Louise, giggling. 

“She’s not his wife,” Buster whispered. Nelly swallowed at the feeling of his breath against her ear again. 

Again, Buster’s butler approached her and again she accepted a cocktail. This one was bright green and mint-flavored. Nelly hadn’t seen Louise Brooks in any pictures, but she’d seen her in plenty of magazines, so she expressed her admiration for Louise’s sleek, dark-brown bob instead. Louise received the compliment good-humoredly and asked Nelly what she did. Buster placed his hand on the small of her back. The weight of it was exquisite, but brief. He leaned over to say, “You’re on your own now, kid. I have to mingle.” Then he was gone.

“I’m a theater actress,” said Nelly. 

And Louise said, “Oh, what have you starred in?”

And pretty soon she was telling Louise about the humble Vista, the revues, and playing Helena and Maria like it was nothing. It was suicide to be seen paying more than momentary attention to a girl in the presence of Nate and the two warships that were his sisters-in-law, but from the minute Buster saw Nelly out on the loggia, a vision in green, he couldn’t seem to leave her alone. There was no reason why he should worry so much about whether she was having a good time or if she spoke to the right people, but now that she was here, he felt compelled to look out for her. Maybe it was how drunk she’d gotten at that speak-easy. Without guidance, she seemed liable to slip and be swallowed up. Or maybe it was her unspoiled Midwestern ways, which reminded him so much of folks he’d known in Muskegon.

He wondered that he’d never noticed that her eyes were blue.

His sense of duty toward her became more powerful with every drink. He knew he’d suffer the consequences in the form of one of Nate’s jealousy attacks, but that punishment seemed far removed as his guests got drunker and their sense of abandon greater. Morning was far off and the night was still young. Now was a time to be happy about it all, to stop tormenting himself about how to make Nate happy and thinking about being saddled with twenty M-G-M gag writers who wouldn’t know funny if it high-kicked them in the forehead like Joe Keaton. He was with his friends in his palace, there was a pretty girl to charm, and life was okay. Somewhere north of nine o’clock, Nelly was sitting in the family room on a settee opposite Louise and George, who were sharing a chair. Perched in George’s lap, Louise’s sparkle drew lots of men’s eyes, Nelly noticed. Of course, that sparkle had a lot to do with the shocking low cut of her dress and its promise to expose her breasts if she moved just a little this way or that. In spite of Louise’s glamor and unabashed provocativeness, Nelly liked her. She was down-to-earth, and they soon discovered a mutual love of books and music. Another citrus cocktail had been handed to Nelly by the butler at some point and the warm glow of spirits was finally upon her. She couldn’t remember why she’d been so worried about this party. She belonged perfectly.

Louise was in the midst of a story about her first feature role which was to begin filming in Mexico the following month when Buster wandered over. It had been over an hour since Nelly had last seen him. She looked up expectantly, waiting for him to sit next to her on the settee. Instead, he moved closer and seated himself straight in her lap. 

“Buster!” she cried, trying not to spill what remained of her drink. 

He sprang up and looked at her lap, his brows knit in confusion. Then he sat next to her, folded his hands, and looked at Louise and George, as if unaware of his mistake. Louise laughed appreciatively and George smiled. Nelly tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. He really was funny, playing the boyish Buster she knew from the screen. 

“Oh. Nelly,” he said, as though noticing her for the first time.

“Buster,” she said dryly. 

“I don’t suppose you like to dance,” he said. He searched her eyes and nodded slowly, as if coming to an answer. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“What?” she said. Her cheeks were warm and there was a joke she wasn’t understanding.

“Go dance with him!” said Louise, laughing. “That’s what he’s asking.”

Buster responded with a mock pained look and opened his hands, as if to say, Great, you just ruined it. 

Silently, he offered his elbow to Nelly, looking straight ahead and not saying anything, back to acting like one of his characters again. She took it and cast Louise a helpless look as he led her away. As they headed back toward the room with the checkerboard floor, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to risk catching any of the Talmadges’ eyes if they were around.

A medium-tempo jazz number was playing on the Victrola. Buster wasted no time in placing an arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. He led her onto the checkerboard floor where a number of other couples were dancing. She smelled whiskey on him where she hadn’t earlier and wondered if he was drunk. Buster hummed along to the song, which wasn’t one she recognized, but she liked the jaunty saxophone. He was a good dancer, nimble and coordinated.

She looked into his eyes and what she thought she saw there made her certain that she was in over her head. She quickly glanced away. She was getting that gay happy feeling she had the night at the blind tiger and wished to squash it. Natalie might be somewhere in the room and Buster was dancing with a girl other than his wife, so she had to have all her wits about her. 

Don’t you know who she is

Looking right at me is

Sugar

My sugar

She looked at Buster’s hand curled around hers. She’d never noticed how big his hands were for such a small man. Feeling the danger in it, she glanced back at his face. He was regarding her impassively. She dropped her eyes again.

Bees would not be buzzin’

‘Round her if she wasn’t

Sugar

My sugar

I declare that honey hasn’t got a thing on her,

No sir!

Buster hummed as he swanned her around the room. Nelly finally worked up the courage to look over his shoulder to see who else was in the room. To her relief, she saw none of the Talmadges, which could only mean that they were in the living room. She made a note to spend the rest of the night out here offering herself as a dance partner so she could avoid finding out how they felt about Buster inviting her to dance.

In conclusion therefore

That is why I care for 

Sugar

She felt a little out of breath when the song ended. Part of her was relieved that they were no longer drawing attention to themselves and the other part was disappointed, especially when Buster released her hand and dropped his hand from her waist.

She started to thank Buster for the dance, but his attention was elsewhere. Her eyes followed his and fell on a man who wasn’t much taller than Buster, but seemed far bigger. Maybe it was the breadth of his most defining features: that distinctive cleft chin, the prominent nose and ears. Or maybe it was just the way he had loomed so large in her fantasies. 

“Well there’s your Don Juan,” Buster said softly, breaking the spell. “Won’t you go to him?” 

“Oh, I can’t,” she said, terror grabbing her.

Buster touched her chin and steered her face back to his. “Do you want to be in pictures?” He looked at her in an earnest way. 

“Yes.”

“Then let’s meet him.” He placed his hand lightly in the center of her back and walked her to the object of so many of her torrid dreams.

“Jack, this is Nelly. Nelly, this is Jack,” he said. 

To Nelly’s alarm, Buster melted off into the crowd and she was stuck staring up into John Barrymore’s face.“How do you do?” she said. Tremulous didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

He smiled. “How do you do?” His voice was deep and rich and aristocratic, exactly as she had imagined it. “Do you care to dance?”

She managed to nod and he pulled her close to him, guiding her in a waltz step as a slower number began. It was a new version of “In the Good Old Summertime” that she hadn’t heard before.

In the good old summertime

In the good old summertime

“And what’s your story, Nelly?” Barrymore asked.

Nelly felt like she might be drowning.

You hold her hand and she holds yours

And that’s a very good sign

In a daze, her cheeks flushed, she found herself telling him not about being a theater actress or working with Buster, but of playing Kate in the first talkie adaptation of Taming of the Shrew. Unlike Buster, Barrymore knew Shakespeare back to front and she felt sure somehow that he would understand. He smiled and listened, the perfect gentleman. She explained that talkies were a natural fit for Shakespeare and would forever change the way audiences experienced him. All the while, the soft dreamy notes of the music carried them along. She had been gay and light-hearted before, but now she was overpowered by Barrymore’s sheer presence. He was strong, he was beautiful, he seemed a little dangerous. Maybe this was what real love felt like.

She was surprised when he released her hand and thanked her for the dance. The music had ended just like that. She felt as though she’d only been dancing for seconds.

Before she had time to do anything other than return his thanks for the dance, another man touched her shoulder. “May I have this dance?” he said in a refined English accent. He was about Buster’s size and quite handsome.

“Of course,” she said, taken aback. She was dizzy with the drinks and the encounter with Barrymore. She wanted nothing more than to retire to the washroom to touch up her face and memorize the details of her conversation with Barrymore, but it wouldn’t do to be rude to one of Buster’s guests.

The man grasped her waist and took her hand as a Dixieland jazz tune began. He smiled. He had full lips, blue eyes, and thick wavy hair that was turning white at his temples and forehead. In spite of that, he looked and sounded young. She tried to remember if she had ever danced with three such handsome men before in a single night.

“I’m Nelly,” she said. “A stage actress.” 

“You probably don’t need me to introduce myself,” said the man. His voice was light and cheerful. He bore forward and she stepped back, left foot, right foot, to the side. A tango. 

She didn’t recognize him at all, but guessed that he was a director. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she confessed. “I’m pretty new to town.”

The man’s smile broadened. “You’ve really no idea?” He seemed delighted by this news.

Nelly smiled and shook her head. “Not in the faintest.”

“Shall I spoil it for you or do you like a mystery?” he said.

“I like one well enough,” she said, trying to remember her tango steps. 

“I’ll give you a clue. Clue starts with C.”

Beautiful changes in different keys

Beautiful changes and harmonies

“You’re charming,” she said.

“That’s not my name, but it’s a good guess.”

Watch that, hear that minor strain!

The song changed tempo and they trotted across the floor. She was definitely out of breath now.

There’s so many babies that he can squeeze, 

And he’s always changing those keys.

She studied his face and shook her head again after a few seconds. “I can’t place you. Are you a director?”

“The first four letters were right,” he said, winking. “When you said ‘charming.’”

She spelled them in her head, C-H-A-R, and the penny dropped, along with her jaw. “I can’t believe it!” she managed. 

“It’s not often I get to surprise anybody,” he said, looking satisfied. 

She searched his face for hints of the Little Tramp, but couldn’t find them. “I never knew your eyes were blue. I thought they were brown.”

“One of my many secrets.”

“Well, you are a director. I had that right!” she said, and that made him laugh.

When the dance ended, Charlie Chaplin kissed her hand before releasing her and she felt truly like she was walking on the moon as she sought out of the washroom. It didn’t seem possible that this was her life. She relieved herself, then appraised herself in the mirror. It was scalloped and gold, with the names of famous Italian cities stamped around the edges, FIRENZE, GENOVA, ROMA, MODENA, VENEZIA. She was happy to see that her makeup was mostly bearing up under the dancing, but she touched up her lipstick and powder. Although she was a little flushed, she felt far more in control of her faculties than she had been the night of the blind tiger. There was great irony, she supposed, in the fact that she had felt out of place that night too. Whether in low company or high company, Nelly Foster managed to stick out. Her head whirled with the encounters she’d had over the past few hours, Marion Davis, Louise, John Barrymore, and Charlie Chaplin.

And Buster, the architect of it all. As she left the washroom, she wondered where he’d gotten off to. She hesitated in the corridor, reluctant to rejoin the revelers on the checkerboard floor or face the Talmadge clan in the living room. Once again, the loggia seemed the logical solution. She crept off to it, wondering what time it was. 

Unfortunately, the loggia was not a refuge. As soon as she stepped foot on it, she heard such blatant sounds of passion that sent her scurrying and blushing back to the room with the checkerboard floor. The front door seemed to beckon. There was a grandfather clock just outside the foyer that told her it was a quarter to eleven. The mere thought of the late hour made her yawn; she was accustomed to being asleep by nine-thirty each night. The night had been enjoyable and, all things considered, she had comported herself alright. It seemed wisest to call a taxi and quit while she was ahead.

“You’re not leaving?” said Buster behind her.

She startled again. “How do you manage to do that?” she said, turning around

“Do what?” He had a whiskey glass in each hand and was wearing a nonchalant expression.

“Oh, you know what,” she said. “And yes, I was thinking of it. It’s getting late.”

Buster cocked his head, indicating the front door. 

“What?” she said.

He rolled his eyes in mock impatience and cocked his head again, wordless, playing his character. She followed him, her heart quickening as she followed him out the massive arched mahogany door and into the circle drive where the fountain splashed. She couldn’t imagine where they were going and why. He went left and led her past topiaries, then left around the corner of the house. Outside, it was dark and still. The leaves of palms waved above them and shrubs sheltered them from sight. Buster sank down in the lawn some feet from the marble steps of another loggia, this one with a squarish entrance.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he reached up and offered her one of the glasses. She took it and sniffed it. It was straight whiskey. Her stomach remembered the way it had felt coming back up that night in his hotel room in July and she hesitated.

“Did you get your break with Barrymore?” Buster said, looking up at the sky. 

Nelly set the drink in the grass and lowered herself carefully next to him. She had to return the dress the following day and would be responsible for any damage, including grass stains. “I didn’t get a chance to bring it up.”

Buster tilted his glass to his lips. “I can talk to him if you’d like. Or Sam Taylor.”

Nelly frowned though he couldn’t see her face well in the diffuse light coming from the loggia. She picked up the glass and swirled it, then plugged up her nose before she took a drink. All the same, the whiskey still burned going down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she said at last. The question had been growing on her ever since he invited her to the party and, influenced by the cocktails, she wanted to know.

Buster took another drink. “Is there a reason I  shouldn’t be?” He lowered his chin and looked off into the distance.

“Are you drunk?” she said. She didn’t have proof, but she was pretty sure she was more sober than him by miles.

“Does it matter?” he countered. 

The conversation wasn’t getting anywhere. “All I mean to say,” she said, “is that you don’t have to introduce me to your friends. When I called you the other day, I wasn’t expecting this. In fact, now I don’t think I ought to have called you at all. I ought to have just found a way to ask Mr. Taylor myself.”

“Everyone has an angle,” said Buster, knocking back the last of the whiskey. 

Nelly had not thought of herself as someone with an angle before, but there was some truth to his words, even though she didn’t like to admit it. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing these days?” he said. He pulled a flask from his jacket and refilled his glass.

The flask shocked Nelly a little bit, but she bit back a blunt remark and answered his question as if she didn’t notice. “Working on the United Artists lot. They put me in the prop department and I paint backdrops once and awhile. I’m hoping to get a part as an extra in the new D.W. Griffith. Anything they’ll let me do, really. It pays my rent fine.”

Buster hmmed. She saw that his hair was beginning to resist the lacquer he’d put in it and was coming loose, a curl here, a wave there. Likely it was the cocktails speaking, but she wanted to take the glass of whiskey away and stroke it. 

She followed his gaze. The Villa looked down into the soft, firefly-like glow of Beverly Hills. The light from the distant mansions wasn’t enough to dampen the stars, which hung white and clear overhead, peeping through the palm leaves. The grass was dewy beneath her hands and goose pimples rose on her arms as a breeze stirred. It was decidedly cool now. Although October in California felt nothing like October in Illinois, there was something of autumn in the air. She shivered. It was like a scene out of a picture, Buster and his girl under the stars, dissatisfied because they hadn’t yet sorted out their misunderstanding. Then she gave herself a mental shake for being fanciful and romantic, reminding herself of how Natalie had welcomed her into the Villa earlier. This was her home just as much as it was Buster’s; she was Buster’s girl.

“Cold?” said Buster. 

She protested, but he was already shrugging out of his jacket. He arranged it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. His face was close as he tucked the jacket and she turned away. She reached for her glass and took another swallow of whiskey. She wasn’t ready to face her thoughts without more liquor on board. 

“Pretty dress, by the way,” said Buster, leaning back on an elbow. “Might be the prettiest one here.”

“Thank you. I rented it,” she said, warmth rising in her cheeks.

“Why?” 

She laughed. “Why? Why’d I rent it? Well to begin with, I’m not rich, and if you’re going to act, you need to look the part.”

“Are you acting?” said Buster.

She choked back another mouthful of whiskey and grimaced. “Sure I am.”

“What does your father do?”

It was an odd non-sequitur. “He’s in real estate,” she said. “Why?” The warm bloom of a proper drunkenness was settling on her.

“And he does pretty well for himself, I guess?” said Buster. 

“I guess.” She rolled the glass between her hands.

“You didn’t want for anything growing up?”

“No.”

“Most of those people in there, they didn’t grow up so well. We all just got lucky, that’s all. Right place, right time kind of thing. We’re just kids with a bunch of money, buying toys and palaces. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of around them. Everyone’s pretending just as much as you.”

She considered him, his face deeply shadowed in the feeble light. There was something dark and melancholic in his mood.

“Anyway, I should have told you to bring someone,” said Buster. “You would have felt a little better I bet. Do you have a steady?”

She shook her head, wondering what it meant that he was asking her if there was a man in her life. “No steady. And I did feel a little better, after you introduced me.”

“Good.” He tossed back the rest of his glass and scooted closer. “How was Jack Barrymore? Did he live up to your dreams?”

She grew hot and took another swallow of the biting liquor before answering. It was the second time he’d brought up Barrymore. The truth was, events had moved so fast she hadn’t had a chance to think about her encounter with Barrymore in any depth. And now that Buster was so distracting and near, she found it hard to think of Barrymore at all. “What makes you think he has anything to do with my dreams?”

“ ‘Cause you said so, that night I picked you up from the speak-easy. It’s alright, I won’t tell his wife. They’re getting a divorce, anyway.”

The joke felt cruel, the barb of it directed more at her than Barrymore and his wife. It made her feel ridiculous and scheming, ashamed of the dazed way she’d looked up at that singular face she’d only seen on screen, imagining that this could be her break, that she might be captivating him or falling in love. The worst of it was that it might be true. She did have an angle, possibly more than one. 

“That’s mean,” she said, looking out at the distant houses. 

“Well, it’s true. And I suppose you heard about Chaplin’s scandal, how he got soaked for almost a million in that divorce of his,” he said.

She acknowledged that she had. 

“I just hope Nate’s kinder to me when the time comes,” he said. 

She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “You can’t seriously think that we’re happy.”

“Nate?” she said.

“My wife. Natalie.”

“Oh.” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and she finished her whiskey before saying, “I hadn’t thought about it.” Her heart thumped in her ears.

“Do you like me, Nelly?”

“Yes. Why?” She tried to sound casual, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded. 

She hazarded a glance at him, fearing what she might find in his eyes, but he was looking straight ahead again. What she didn’t dare say was that she liked the profile in front of her—the aquiline nose, the soft lips, the dark brows, the heavy-lidded eyes—better than Barrymore’s. She had for a while now, she realized.

Buster shrugged and pulled the flask out of his jacket again. Nelly, by now feeling the whiskey’s full effects, did something shocking without a single thought. She snatched it from his hand, raised her arm as high as she could, and flung it down the hill. 

“Hey!” said Buster, somewhat loudly.

“Shh,” she said. “We’ll be heard.”

“Don’t shush me, sweetheart, this is my party and I can drink as much as I like, you hear?”

He looked like such a mixture of things in that moment—bewildered, indignant, hurt—that she leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t react. 

For a split second, she was sure that she had misread all of the signs she thought she’d noticed and was about to be in serious trouble with him. Then his hand was at the back of her neck and he was pulling her into a deeper kiss, nothing at all like the chaste, brief pecks he gave on screen. She threaded her hand in the shorter hair at the back of his head to keep him where he was. His arm came around her shoulders and she braced her free hand against his chest. She was thrilled to find that his heart was pounding.

“You shouldn’t drink anymore tonight. You’ll have an awful headache in the morning,” she said in a whisper, when he pulled back for a moment.

He kissed her again. The heat in her cheeks was rapidly starting to spread to other regions of her body. Now that this was happening, she didn’t have a single thought for anything but Buster. Her entire world had come down to him, and he felt too right for her to worry about morals or consequences. 

She leaned her forehead against his as they broke apart. His breath warmed her lips. He was looking at her silently and she looked back. Gradually, the world began to fade back in. She could hear a faint peal of laughter from within the Villa and she wondered how long it would be before someone would miss the host and go searching for him. 

“I guess we should go in,” she said, after a few moments of silence.

Buster looked at her. His finger traced the bow of her upper lip, then the seam of her mouth. When she parted her lips in response, he captured them again. She closed her eyes and cupped his cheek as her world narrowed back down to the sound of their kisses and his soft, needy exhales. It might have been just seconds or whole minutes before Buster jolted her back to reality with the press of his tongue against hers. She drew back, feeling light-headed, and he followed, biting her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that this could get out of control quickly. The base part of her wanted that—very much—but the rational part of her mind was waking up. 

“We should go,” she said.

“We’re by my wing,” said Buster hoarsely. “There’s a staircase to my balcony. You could wait in my room for me until the party’s over. I’d get you out before morning.”

“We can’t,” she said, even as he was arguing against her neck with more gentle love-bites. 

“Why not?” His head went lower and his tongue outlined her collarbone.

“It’s dangerous. I bet your guests are already looking for you.”

Almost on cue, laughter echoed out from the area of the drive and the fountain. Aware that it could be the Talmadge sisters, Nelly took the opportunity to stand up and brush herself off before he could persuade her—and he was perhaps too close to persuading her. She’d lost track of the whiskey glass and whether she had finished what was in it. She was decidedly intoxicated. “C’mon,” she said. She stuck out her hand for Buster. He let her pull him up and swayed beside her for a moment, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

“Will you call a taxi for me?” she said. 

He reached out and touched her cheek, looking at her for a long quiet moment as if to memorize her. She noticed that his mouth was smudged in lipstick. 

“Oh dear. I got lipstick all over you,” she said. “Do you have a handkerchief? I don’t have mine on me. My handbag’s inside.”

“You and that damn bag, always leaving it behind.” He reached out and fished in the breast pocket of his jacket on her shoulders. 

She dampened the handkerchief with a little saliva and scrubbed at his lips. “Ow!” he said, frowning. 

“Don’t be a baby, it’s almost off,” she said, wiping at the corner of his mouth. She stood back. It was hard to tell because of the shadows, but she thought that she’d gotten most of it. “How do I look?”

Buster smirked, the first real smile she’d seen on him the whole night. “Defiled,” he said. “Better stay out here while I call that taxi.” He pressed her hand before he left, and she was alone with the most impossible tangle of thoughts, the foremost of which was that she wanted him to come back as soon as possible so that they could finish what they’d started.

She stepped into the loggia and sat down in the nearest chair. Stunned didn’t begin to describe her feelings. Buster’s jacket around her shoulders enveloped her in the smell of him, cigarettes and his own unique scent. Drunk, she was buoyed on a comfortable wave of happiness. She and Buster had done something daring, it was true, but in her heart’s core it was what she had wanted and she didn’t regret it a single bit. She’d only stopped it because she was afraid of being caught. Under normal circumstances, that thought would have alarmed her, but inebriated she could be honest with herself. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t get the thrill of a lifetime when she thought of her dance with Barrymore or even handsome Charlie Chaplin; she did. It seemed, though, that she had fallen for Buster without even knowing it. She shivered and not because of the chill in the air.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, standing up and catching his hand when he reappeared a few minutes later.

He gave her hand a squeeze and passed over her bag, which he was holding. “I did you one better. Caruthers said he’d take you home. He’ll have the car ready in five.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” she said suggestively.

“Even I can’t finish that quick, honey,” he said, and she was glad he couldn’t see how brightly her face burned.

“I didn’t mean that you goose, I meant this.” She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Oh. Yeah, that,” he said. He pulled her against his chest and gave her a long, searching kiss. 

This time, Nelly didn’t pull away at the touch of his tongue; she met it and Buster groaned. With one hand, she stroked the fallen strands of hair at his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, when they broke apart. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

“Sure you won’t stay the night?” Buster said, kissing the corner of her lips.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.

“If you were, would you?” he said, drawing back to look in the eyes.

Her heart pounded. “Yes,” she said, after considering it. “I guess I would.”

He pulled her close and embraced her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, thinking that she could stay here in his arms all night. Another burst of laughter and conversation came from the direction of the fountain. Car tires crunched on the gravel.

“We better behave,” Buster said.

“You’re probably right.” 

He released her and sat down in one of the chairs, and she followed his lead. He took her hand between both of his and they fell into silence. She wanted to tell him what the night meant to her, but couldn’t find the words. She looked out at the distant houses and up the stars, wondering if she’d ever get the chance to kiss him again or if she was just a passing fancy for a starry, booze-filled night. Too soon, there was the honk of a horn and Buster let go of her hand, standing up. “I think that’s your ride,” he said. They walked back to the drive, Nelly a few paces ahead of Buster, where a dark-colored Packard was waiting. Buster approached it and opened the nearest backseat door. He took her hand and helped her into the car. “Thanks for coming,” he said, after regarding her for a quiet moment.

She wanted to give him a parting kiss on the cheek, but couldn’t with his butler for an audience. “I had a beautiful night,” she said. “Thank you so much.” He gave her hand another quick squeeze and went around to the driver’s window, where he said to Caruthers, “Get her home safe.”

As the butler pulled away, she watched Buster walk back to the Villa. He didn’t turn around once, but continued until he reached the mahogany front door and slipped inside. Only then did she realize she was still wearing his jacket and had forgotten to check him for lipstick again.  Soundtrack: Red Nichols’ Stompers - “Sugar” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “In the Good Old Summertime” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “Changes” You don’t know how many times I’ve listened to these songs on repeat the past two months.

[emptygoldstudio]

PSYCHONAUTS 2 THEORIES ABOUT PSI CADETS

!ATTENTION!

All theories can be far-fetched due to the small amount of information. All the pictures (except for Lizzie's drawing) are taken from the Internet and I DO NOT own them (except, again, Lizzie's drawing) The post is not trying to offend anyone. These are just the thoughts of a dedicated psi fan. And of course beware of spoilers)

Post where i explained cadets named

Let's start

Norma

Name meaning

Norma is a female name. A single instance of the name Norma is recorded 1203, where it perhaps derives from the Latin word norma, meaning "precept".

More recently Norma has been used as a female equivalent of the name Norman, meaning "Norseman".

<...> the name of the Germanic mythological Norns.

As you go deeper, you can see the mention of Norns:

The Norns in Norse mythology are female beings who rule the destiny of gods and men.

<...> there are many others who appear at a person's birth in order to determine his or her future. In the pre-Christian Norse societies, Norns were thought to have visited newborn children.There were both malevolent and benevolent Norns: the former caused all the malevolent and tragic events in the world while the latter were kind and protective goddesses.

Perhaps this is the essence of Norma as a character: her own destiny will be in her own hands, but until a certain moment she will not believe in it ... Or it's just female equivalent of the name Norman. Who knows how hard Double Fine Productions tried to lay down a secret meaning and did it try at all?

Appearance

Norma looks quite fashionable - in a floral blouse and a brown skirt with a wide belt. Perhaps she will become the "black sheep" character type and be a little bitchy. At least that's how I see her now.

Lil’ funny thing - for me Norma looks like a Frisk from Undertale

Sam

Name meaning

Short for Samuel, from the Biblical name Shemu'el, which means "God has heard", from the Hebrew shama, meaning "heard" and el, meaning "God".

Hebrew is the state language of Israel.

Appearance

Sam has some pretty unique clothes. If we attribute it to religious clothing, then we can say that he can be either a Jew or a Muslim.

Personally, I am more inclined to think that his clothes are similar to Jewish, if you take several outfits and mix them together. The only detail that seems odd to me is the hat. It's not black, it's brown. Therefore, there is a small chance that this is Muslim clothing with an ordinary black jacket and hat on top.

Lizzie

Name meaning

Lizzie is a short form of the name Elizabeth... That’s it. This is all I’ve got.

Appearance

Many punks dye their hair in bright, unnatural colors, comb and fix it with varnish, brilliantine or gel so that it stands up.

Punks also wear various attributes of rocker subcultures: wristbands, bracelets (mostly leather, with spikes, rivets and chains, etc.), and often make them themselves. Many punks get tattoos.

Okay, listen to me. I'm not a professional when it comes to punk culture, but just look at it. Tattoos, badges, the general dark blue color scheme is maintained in clothes, various bracelets and belts, a huge earring, a jacket made of raven feathers(?). If it's not punk, then I don't know who (write your opinion in the comments).

There is one detail that has always confused me about Lizzie. Her hair. They always seem to stretch up. And while I was looking for information about punks, it dawned on me.

Iroquois!

Lizzie has a mohawk, but she pulled on a hat to hide it? Or it's just her style. I do not know. But what I know for sure is that now I will not be able to discern the fact that she has a mohawk.

Morris

Name meaning

Origin from British, Irish or Germanic

Appearance

He is dressed in a neat suit. He may have a wealthy background, which would explain his appearance. But the most interesting thing is his ability. Morris sits in what I would call a wheelchair that is levitated. I will assume that Morris is disabled and cannot walk, which makes levitation the only way to his comfortable existence (Or he is simply too lazy to walk, which is unlikely). From the light bounced off the Gisu, it can be assumed that the color of his levitation ball is yellow or some other light color.

He also has a small notch on his nose. I don't know what it is.

An interesting thing was shown in one of the latest video updates, where Raz and Morris are on the same mission and are chasing something that looks like an octopus. Raz is currently jumping on platforms floating in the air. They are translucent and I will just assume that they are one of Morris's main abilities. In that case, considering how the colors are arranged in the Raz Levitation Ball, I would say that Morris has a yellow levitation ball with a blue border.

Gisu

Name meaning

A submission from California, U.S. says the name Gisu means "Tress, curl, or long hair of a woman" and is of Persian / Iranian origin.

A submission from Virginia, U.S. says the name Gisu means "Gift of god" and is of Indian (Sanskrit) origin.

Appearance

As a result, we have leads for three countries. If you look at the modern clothes of each country and compare them with what Gisu is wearing, it turns out that Iranian clothes look very similar.

I studied the issue as much as I could. Indeed, what covers her shoulders and head looks like a shawl or rusari. Therefore, I declare with full confidence that Gisu is from Iran.

Also, her hair matches the description of one of the meanings of the name:

"Tress, curl, or long hair of a woman"

In her hands you can see something like a skateboard. Maybe it's just a board that she uses like a hoverboard by using levitation.

Cassie

Name meaning

Cassandra means “to excel”, “to shine” and "prophetess".

In Greek Baby Names the meaning of the name Cassie is: Purity; unheeded prophetess.

Appearance

At the moment, Cassie is my favorite character, but also quite mysterious. In case you haven't noticed, in the last updates we were shown exactly her, and not other psi-cadets. And as you know, a regular character will not get as much attention as a key character. It is Cassie who comes out ahead of all the cadets in the scene from the trailer, and she is the focus of the scene.

Many have already guessed that the level made from the books is Cassie's consciousness. It is quite obvious - an abstruse looking girl with glasses, probably likes to read. And there are no other candidates for the role of the owner of the book consciousness yet. But it is about this level that the creators in one of the videos will say that everything was going to this, it is here that the words will sound:

But here's what put me on my guard, these words:

This means that they wanted at least one character to have purple skin. Now let's remember a key character with purple skin, almond-shaped eyes, dark hair, a triangular head, whose cheeks could become sunken over a long life; a character strong enough for his descendants to become some of the best and strongest to be able to become cadets at the Psychonauts' headquarters...

The answer is one

Maligula

Even without considering the weirdness of the game's style, you can see that Cassie and Maligula are quite similar. Just paint Maligula cheeks and you're done. And this gives more room for thought. If Cassie is a descendant of Maligula, what can she do at headquarters? She went there of her own free will, wanting to advance beyond the fortuneteller, which her family never did, or she is part of Galochio's conspiracy, because who will suspect a cadet teenage girl. Is she the mole that Raz is looking for? If that's the case, it's brilliant to hide out in the open.

Therefore, I believe that her ability is hydrokinesis, which is inherited. But because of the beanie and scarf, I'll assume that her ability could have evolved into cryokinesis - the ability to manipulate ice (at least I want to belive in this)

What do you think about all these theories about psi cadets? I would be interested to read.

[jxoxsxsxi]

Daylight- Taylor Swift

TW: Homophobia 

https://jxoxsxsxi.tumblr.com/post/623061177510019072/the-next-short-fic-i-am-going-to-upload-contains

Robbe knows deep down that he shouldn't do it. He should just turn his phone off and get back to his schoolwork, but he simply can't stop scrolling through the comments.

It was a lazy Sunday evening. Robbe had been studying the entire weekend for his exam week that started tomorrow. He had to move heaven and earth to make Sander come over. The older boy didn't want to distract him, but Robbe claimed he deserved a break. 

So now they were sitting in Robbe's room. Sander was drawing while Robbe tried to stamp the french words in his head. 

The older boy had teased he was going to test Robbe, and if the smaller boy got them all correct, he would get a reward. 

Robbe had just taken his phone for a five-minute distraction because if he saw that stupid page of his textbook again, he was going to scream. 

His body stiffened when he read the caption of the Instagram post. It was as if he couldn't function anymore. 

Gay couple attacked in Amsterdam.

A strange noise escaped from his throat which made his boyfriend, who was sitting across the room, raising his eyebrow. 

Robbe just shook his head and murmured something. 

The other boy had snort softly and focus on his drawing again. 

It felt as if his stomach was filled with bricks. 

His fingers were shaking as he pressed on the read more. 

Gays should be banned.

Their own fault, they shouldn't have hold hands. 

Gays are not normal❌👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨❌

Wtf that gay couple started it by provoking. Victim roll!

Why is this news? It happens daily. 

When are we going to stop pretending as if being gay is normal? If the entire world was gay or Lesbian then we wouldn't exist anymore. So yeah it is not normal.

Good for them, they deserve it. Burn the gays alive🤢🤮 

I don't want to hate but being gay goes against nature. 

Wait, being gay is a disease right? 

So there is still hope in this world.

Robbe swallowed with great difficulty. He starts to bite his fingernails while focusing on the screen. 

Some other comments showed support for the couple, but it didn't make him feel better. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweating. 

'You okay, angel?'

Robbe desperately tried to hide how shaken he was. He could control the tremor in his voice to a certain degree. 

'Yeah, fine.' 

He could make himself smile somewhat even if it looked pasted on but Sander wouldn't be Sander if he didn't notice something. 

The older boy raised his eyebrow. 'What are you doing, bub?'

His voice is teasing and light. The big hand of his lover is still holding a pencil very carefully, but he is looking at Robbe. 

'Just some school stuff.'

The older boy nods and gives him a smile, one the Robbe with great difficulty returns. 

He let his head fall back against the pillow and unlocks his phone again. 

Sander starts humming a song. 

Robbe rolls on his side and scrolls through the comments. He presses read more under a supportive comment. There is a whole fight going on. 

He actually feels sick. 

If Sander and he went to the police would they have gotten in the news as well? Would they also get those hate comments? 

Was that the reason Sander didn't want to go to the police? 

Afraid of the hate they would get online? 

But that didn't make sense. They didn't do anything to provoke it. 

They were just kissing in the street. 

He bit his lip so hard that he taste the metal flavour of blood in his mouth. 

Perhaps kissing in the street wasn't that good of an idea. 

But on the other hand, straight couples did it all the time. 

Robbe had grown a lot over the past year. He was more comfortable with his sexuality, even proud of it. Being gay was normal. 

He knows it is stupid, but all those comments make him doubt everything. Robbe always thought that being gay was okay, at least in Belgium. That the majority of the population supported them yet the comment section is filled with hate. 

Maybe- 

Suddenly his phone is pulled out of his hands. 

Robbe was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice his boyfriend lying next to him on the bed. 

A cocky grin paints the face of his lover. 

Fear flows through his entire body. He doesn't want Sander to see what he has been reading. It will only make things awkward. The older boy will get mad that Robbe read things like that. 

'Sander, give me my damn phone back.' 

Robbe can't control his panicked voice and attacks his laughing boyfriend.

'What are you doing? Staring at naked guys while you should be studying? That is bad, Robin, this way you won't get your reward.' 

His voice is teasing while he holds the phone out of Robbe's range. 

'Sander,' he climbs on top of his boyfriend. 'This is not fucking funny.' 

His voice cracks which cause the other boy raising his eyebrow. 

The boy gets off the bed and holds the phone above his head. 

Robbe jumps on the older boy's back in an attempt to get his phone back.

During moments like this, he hates that he smaller, younger, and weaker than his boyfriend.  

Sander's face falls when he starts reading the screen. Robbe knows it is too late, but he still tries to get his phone back by tugging his lover's sleeve. 

'Oh, Robbe' sighs the older boy while putting the phone down. 'Why are you reading that, baby?'

Robbe just stares at the ground. For some stupid reason, tears start welling up in his eyes. 

He bites the inside of his cheek to suppress them.

'Hey, look at me, baby?'

Sander gently cups his face while slowly lifting his chin. 

Robbe doesn't look into the green eyes of his lover. 

The older boy wraps his arms around his boyfriend and presses a kiss against the brown curls.  

They stand there for a while. Robbe inhales the scent of the other boy. The scent that gives him comfort. It reminds him of an early summer day at the beach for some reason. 

Maybe because that is where they first met or just because he loves the beach during early mornings. 

'Why are you looking at those things?' 

Sander's voice gives his goosebumps all over his body. 

Robbe shrugs lightly and starts playing with the cord of his boyfriend’s jumper. 

'I came across it.'

The older boy pulls back slightly so that they can look at each other. 

'I know it is hard, but we can't control it. All we can do is ignore it and keep our heads up.'

'Why are people so hateful against love?' 

Robbe feels like a little child, but he just needs to ask it.

'It isn't really hate, baby. It is indifference, something cold that never stirs itself, never cries with passion. Indifference ignores, abandons, acts as if the other doesn't matter at all. It is as cold as the void, an emptiness that cares not if the other suffers. I know it is difficult, but you have to ignore it.'

Robbe leans against his boyfriend's shoulder. 

'Do you think that if we went to the police that-' 

He lifts his head so that he can meet the green eyes of his lover. 

Sander bites his lip and brushes a curl from Robbe's forehead. 

'I don't know, baby' he sighs. 

It stays silent for a moment. 

'Do you think about it a lot?'

Robbe can't really pinpoint Sander’s tone. It almost sounds ashamed.

He shrugs 'sometimes.'

Sander nods slowly. 

'You know, what happened is hard to take back, since the damage has already been done. It has left a scar on our relationship. I know it still feels fresh. Especially when you come across new like that, but I promise you it will fade into the past. One day we will get over it and then we will show those assholes how wrong they are. That love is love no matter what.'

The boy pauses for a second. 

'I don't know how to say this but you need to get over it. It is easier said than done, I know that, but by holding on to fear and pain you let them win. I am not trying to tell you that you can't be upset about it.'

A finger lifts his chin. 

'Do you get what I mean?'

It feels like the older boy is staring down his soul. 

Robbe nods. 

'Tell me, please.'

'I can't let it get to me and just need to ignore it.'

'You have to ignore that hate, but you don't ignore the struggles.'

Robbe lift his eyebrow 'what?'

'You can acknowledge that there is still a lot of homophobia in the world, but you don't have to listen to it if that makes sense.'

'That are the reasons of pride, right? Milan and I talked about that once.'

'Pride has many reasons, but yeah that is one of it.'

Sander licks his lips before pressing a soft kiss against the lips of his lover. 

'You also have to remember that those comments are probably from a bunch of twelve years olds that don't understand what they are saying. Most of them are just ignorant and you can try to educate them. It will take time and a lot of energy, but that doesn't mean you can't try.'

Sander places both his hand on Robbe's cheeks. 

'It is important to remember that isn't your job to educate them. You are normal and if they don't see it, fuck them.'

'They are the problem, not us.'

A soft smile paints Sander's face. 'Exactly, love.'

'Milan told me that once. I didn't come up with that myself.'

The older boy snorts and wraps his arms tightly around Robbe. 

'I love you.'

'I-’ A kiss is being pressed against his nose. 

‘Love’ Another kiss against his cheek

‘You’ A kiss against his other cheek

‘Too' And finally a quick peck against his lips. 

A smile creeps on Robbe’s face. 

'Are you going to stay tonight?'

Robbe plays with the cord of his boyfriend's hoodie while giving the boy his best puppy eyes. 

'I wish I could love, but you have to study. I am-’

His voice crumbles when Robbe starts to pout. 

'Oh fuck it, yes I am staying.'

'Hmm,' Robbe stands on his tiptoes to kiss his lover who gently pushes him over to the bed. 

'You still have to study though.' 

Robbe let out a loud sigh while pulling Sander on top of him. 

'I think I need that reward first.'

[taotrooper]

Q&A with Kusanagi-sensei at the Manga Barcelona con

Kusanagi Mizuho was a guest on the Barcelona con 2019 and she had a panel with the fans this morning where they asked her some questions. None of them are plot-related, sadly (I suspect the questions sent by fans were heavily filtered to avoid spoilers). But if you’re curious about the personal and professional stuff she’s said, and her opinion about her characters, here’s a translation of the livetweeting by the manga’s publisher, Norma Editorial, which is here. I’m also complementing with Ramen Para Dos’ liveblogging.

Kusanagi requested not to have her picture taken. Except for those lucky few Spaniards and Catalanes who attended the panel, she’ll remain a meerkat to us. (Parenthesis notes are my commentary, not part of the interview!)

Q. When did you decide to start drawing?

A. She started to draw when she was around 9-10 years old. She’d make up complete stories she’d read her younger sister --who also came to the con.

Q. What was her favorite manga back then? And now?

A. She really liked Slam Dunk, Hana Yori Dango, and Ranma 1/2 when she was little. It seems she’s into redhead protagonists, Norma jokes. Right now she likes One Piece and Attack on Titan.

Q. Did she study in any sort of academy? Has she worked as an assistant? 

A. She went to art school (she specifies not manga, art) and was an assistant after graduating for 4-5 years.

Q. What does she currently delegated to her assistants?

A. She works with 4-5 people. They take care of drawing landscapes, armor, plates of food, extra things... They also help a lot with combat scenes: she’s the one who draws the basic battle panels but they finish them.

Q. Does she find it hard to make it to deadlines?

A. She laughed. Handing in chapters is so hard because she takes a long time to design the story, so she only dedicates 3 or 4 days to draw 30 pages because she has no time left.

(Yikes, poor Kusanagi D: )

Q. Does she like to listen to something or snack while she works? 

A. When she’s working on the story she needs total silence and being alone, but while she draws she likes to put on anime or movies or music as background noise.

Q. Where does Ao keep her acorns?

A. Squirrels usually carry 7 acorns in their mouths. Ao brings 10 at least!

(Oh no, she’s too OP!!!!)

Q.  Hak or Soo-Won? 

A. She laughs and assures us she has a lot of love for both of them.

Q. How did she come up with the manga’s setting?

A. At first she thought about basing it on Rome or Japan, but it didn’t fit. So in the end she combined different Asian scenarios to give birth to AkaYona.

(So... yeah, it’s not 100% Three Kingdoms Korea, it’s a hybrid. Also lol she really likes Rome, huh?)

Q. Does she have a favorite character? 

A. NE: She doesn’t have a favorite, she loves all of them and loves to draw them so they look as good-looking as possible when they look at themselves in the mirror.

RP2: When she creates a story centered in one character, she tries to focus all details on said character. But she feels appreciation for all characters in Akatsuki no Yona. Then there’s a character’s personality or some enemy that’s not liked by the audience and that motivates her to draw them more handsome.

(Well, that sure explains Keishuk becoming more luscious lately, but THEN THERE’S GOBI’S CRAZY FACES.....................)

Q. Does she feel identified with any of her characters?

A. All of her characters reflect part of her own idols so they don’t really represent her that much.

(Damn, there she goes debunking the Kusa-relates-to-SW jokes)

Q. Which dragon would she take on a journey if she had to go on adventures like Yona?

A. She’d like to take the four of them but if she had to choose she’d pick Jae-Ha. He’s kind to women and he can jump really high!

(Jae-ha bias confirmed. We been knew, sensei, we been knew.

“HE JUMP” - Mizuho Kusanagi, 2019)

Q. The reveal of Zeno’s powers is one of the most amazing scenes in the series. How was it for her? 

A. She was looking forward to drawing it. She doesn’t like its brutality but it was necessary to express its importance. Regardless, she enjoyed it a lot.

Q. How does she feel about thinking of Yona as a strong, inspirational female character?

A. NE says that to her Yona is an ordinary girl, what makes her special is that she’s a fighter (the wording here is implied to be in a hardworking, fighting daily way, not as a warrior necessarily). Life taught her to be strong and positive and she thinks that’s very important. RP2 says that the character herself is normal but to her, Yona’s strength and courage to move forward is what stand out and inspires.

She got an ovation from the audience at this point :’)

Q. How does she feel about having so many fans overseas? 

A. She’s very happy and grateful! She’s so surprised to see so many people (women and men) around the world and outside of Japan who understand and enjoy Yona’s vision. She thanks us all so much!

(Aww~)

Q. What does she do in her free time?

A. She loves to spend time with her cat. But she ends up annoying her cat sometimes, and she (the kitty) scratches her (Kusanagi) often.

Q. This one was for her editor, called Tokushige. Wat is it like to work with Kusanagi-sensei with a manga like Yona?

A. She says she knows the author’s job is very hard with a terrible pace and schedule. Despite that she has to be tough and mean to help Kusanagi with keeping the schedule and the quality. But while it’s touch she likes working with her/looks forward to it.

In the next part, they have Kusanagi ask the audience a question, and she throws the favorite character question back at them! There’s no recount of what people in the room said (besides the fact it took a long time for someone to say Hak and she remarked on that) but NE asked Twitter as well and you can see the answers on the thread.

(Since I slept through the interview, I missed the chance to tell her mine D: Shoutout to the MVPs in the thread who mentioned Yoon and Tae-jun in a sea of Haks and Yonas and Jae-has and Zenos. And the two cosplayers who went there as Argila and Vold!)

ETA: This livetweeting mentioning some characters the fans threw in. Yona, Hak, TAE-JUN several times, Soo-won, Geun-tae, Kija, squirrel Ao, and ship-wise besides HakYona there’s a Zeno/Kaya mention.

So anyway, that was all. Kusanagi brought presents for the selected people who won her signature (a case with Aos on it) plus a few more unknown presents (probably also those cases) to raffle on the Q&A with a jankenpon game. That was sweet of her!

Extra info I’ve seen: she had to take THREE planes to get to Spain from Kyushu. They also gave her her two consecutive awards to Best Shoujo by that same con, which they do yearly with the manganime that gets published here. They also gave her a soccer shirt of the famous local team (Barça) with her name on the back (10/Mizuho).

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Chapter Forty-One:

The One Where Count Olaf Arrives In Paltryville

 

Klaus trudged along the lumber mill carrying his baby sister miserably. He didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want Sir and Charles to be his guardians and he didn’t want to work alongside Sunny in a lumbermill for the next five to six years. But most of all he didn’t want to believe that his parents were arsonists.

He stopped short of the dormitory and looked down at Sunny. “I don’t want to live between the storage shed and the lumber mill itself,” he whined looking at his new home.

Sunny nodded her head in agreement. The children went a few moments in complete silence staring from each other to the dormitory. Sunny looked at her brother with a puzzled expression as he began to smile.

“Huh?” Sunny asked. 

“Well...think of it like this. The good news is Count Olaf will arrive soon, fuck everything up and we’ll get to leave.” Klaus said happily looking back at the eye-shaped building.

“Good?” Sunny asked. 

“Yeah. This time when he arrives, his dumb ass will be helping us.” 

“Uh-huh,” Sunny said looking worriedly at her brother. She didn’t know why he wanted Olaf to show up but it didn’t matter. Deep down Sunny Baudelaire knew that her brother was right. Olaf would show up soon and fuck everything up, forcing the children to relocate again. Sunny’s never been to school, but she imagined it would be better than working in a lumber mill. 

Klaus sighed as he entered the lumber mill’s dormitory. If he were to be honest, he didn’t necessarily want Olaf to show up in their lives again but if there were ever a time where he’d be less annoyed about it, it’d be now. Klaus didn’t want to work in this lumber mill in exchange for his guardians to try to keep him and his sister safe. He knew that eventually, Olaf would find them, he’d be in a new ridiculous disguise to kidnap Klaus and Sunny to gain their fortune. He just couldn't help but hope that it would happen sooner rather than later. Klaus took one last look back at the eye-shaped building frowning. He didn’t know how to feel about Olaf eventually showing up. He was partially serious when he said that it’d be good news. This place already sucked. He wanted to try his luck at school. 

The children entered the dorm with everyone staring at this with either glare or a face full of disappointment. The room was filled with bunk beds, standing in rows and rows on a cement floor. Sitting or lying down on the bunks were an assortment of people, men, and women, who were looking at the children with tired faces covered in sawdust. The whole place had a damp smell, a smell rooms get when the windows have not been opened for quite some time. Of course, in this case, the windows had never been opened because there weren’t any windows at all. Although the children could see that somebody had taken a ballpoint pen and drawn a few windows on the gray cement walls. The window drawings somehow made the room even more pathetic and the Baudelaire orphans felt a lump in their throats just looking at it. 

The Baudelaire orphans stood there awkwardly in the middle of the walkway. After a few moments, a confused-looking man whose clothes were covered in sawdust. He stared at them for quite sometime before speaking. 

“How do you do?” Klaus muttered confused as to why everyone was staring at him and Sunny. “I’m Klaus and this is my sister, Sunny.”

The confused-looking man looked at Klaus and Sunny for a mere second. A smile appeared across his face as he laughed cheerily. “Are you sure you are in the right place?”

Sunny nodded as Klaus said, “Unfortunately, yes. We live here now.”

The man scratched his head, and the Baudelaires watched sawdust fall out of his messy gray hair. “You’re going to live here, at the Lucky Smells Lumbermill?”

“Yep!” Sunny said. 

“We’re apparently going to work here too,” Klaus added.

“You’re going to work here? Children, working in a lumbermill is a very difficult job. Trees have to be stripped of their bark and sawed into narrow strips to make boards. The boards have to be tied together into stacks and loaded onto trucks. I must tell you that the majority of people who work in the lumber business are grown-ups. But if the owner says you’re working here, I guess you’re working here. You’d better come have some dinner.” The man took Klaus’ suitcase from his hand, ushering the children to follow him. “My name is Phil, by the way. Would you two prefer two separate bunks or are you okay with sharing?” 

“We prefer to share,” Klaus said following Phil towards an empty bunk, still feeling super uncomfortable since everyone was still staring at him and Sunny. 

“Does a bottom bunk suit your preference?” Phil asked as Klaus nodded. Phil put the children’s luggage on top of the bunk. “Through that door is the bathroom and down that hallway over there is the kitchen. Those tables over there are where we usually eat our dinner.” Phil explained. “I’ll give you a minute to unpack.”

Phil disappeared towards the kitchen leaving the children alone in the room of unfriendly faces. Klaus awkwardly made his way to one of the tables with Sunny awaiting their dinner. 

That night in the lumbermill workers’ dorm, the Baudelaires sat in silence and pondered what they heard from Sir, and the weight of it felt like it had aged them a hundred years. 

“Did you hear about the new recruits? They’re Baudeliares.” one of the men said.

“I hear their folks were arsonists,” another worker said.

“I hear they checked out library books and never returned them,” another said.

“No, I believe that was the Snicket lad,” the first man replied.

“Ah! You’re right. Weren’t they the ones that disregarded all traffic laws?” 

“No, you’re thinking of the Snicket girl,” the first man replied.

“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn…”

“Didn’t they burn ants with a magnifying glass,” a woman asked from across the room.

“No, you’re thinking of that foul man with the horrid stench. What was his name again?”

“I don’t remember. But didn’t he date the Snicket girl?”

“Are you sure they’re not Snickets? Didn’t the Snicket lad have a thing for…” 

“Who cares! We’re talking about those blasted Baudelaires! You know the ones who drank from the skulls of chupacabras!”

“You mean they drank from baby skulls like chupacabras,”

“I know what I heard.”

Klaus slammed his hand on the table as hard as he could, trying to get everyone’s attention. Several of the workers turned towards the Baudelaires. “That’s ridiculous! Did any of you actually meet our parents?” Klaus asked.

“I think Jimmy did,” 

“Norma Rae is here longer,” Jimmy said.

“Don’t look at me, Look at Cesar,” Norma Rae muttered.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Do you know anything about what happened to this town.”

“We’re not allowed to talk about it,” Cesar replied.

“It’s too terrible...also we don’t know,” Jimmy added.

“Fuisse!” Sunny yelled, which meant, “Then you shouldn’t be spreading rumors!” Klaus was quick to translate for her. 

Phil came back into the room with two plates of bland beef casserole. “I never believed those rumors anyway,” Phil said as he smiled down at the Baudelaires. The children gave him small smiles in return but they could still feel people staring at them. “So where are your parents now?”

Klaus looked down at Sunny, who looked away wiping her tears away. “...we’re orphans,” 

“Lucky you!” Phil said cheerfully. “The unsupervised life? No rules, no curfews!” 

As Phil said this, a voice from an intercom shouted, “Lights out!” as the dormitory’s lights went out as the children were still eating their dinner.

“But...it’s only six o’clock,” Klaus pointed out frowning.

“Oh, boy! More time for dreaming,” Phil said laughing. “I’m so excited to work with you kids.”

“Thank you,” Klaus said frowning.

Phil glanced at both Baudelaire orphans, smiling at each of them. “Listen, I..I know things seem dark. But you have to look on the bright side. So your parents burned down towns. You don’t have to be like your parents. My parents were Olympic athletes and look at me, I work in a lumbermill.”

Klaus and Sunny looked at one another skeptically. From Phil’s words, the Baudelaires could tell that their new coworker was an optimist, a word which here means, ‘person who thinks hopeful thoughts about even the bleakest situation’. For example, if an optimist were to have his right arm bitten off by an alligator, he might say, ‘Oh, boy, half-priced manicures for life.’ Whereas the rest of us would say, ‘Ah, my arm!’ Now, ‘optimist’ is not to be confused with ‘optometrist’, a word meaning ‘healthcare professional who performs eye exams’. Although, I must warn you...both can be dangerous.

“By the way…” Klaus said, “What is the owner’s name? Nobody will tell us.”

“I don’t know,” Phil said laughing. “He doesn’t visit the dormitory very often. Does anybody here remember the owner’s name?” Phil asked the other workers, who either shook their heads or ignored Phil entirely.

“You mean, you never talk to him?”

“We never really see him. He lives in a house across from the storage shed and only comes around the lumber mill for special occasions. We see Charles here and there sometimes. We also see the foreman every day.”

“Teruca?” sunny asked, which meant, “What’s a foreman?”

“A foreman,” Klaus explained, “is someone who supervises workers. Is he nice, Phil?”

“He’s okay,” Phil replied. “I don’t really like to judge people.”

Klaus sighed as Sunny began biting down on her silverware out of boredom. 

“Who wants a welcome packet?” Phil asked handing the children a packet each.

While they pored over the dense contents of their welcome packets and poked at dense beef casserole with their welcome spoons, the Baudelaires faced their first night in Paltryville with some attempted optimist of their own.

“Look! Book!” Sunny said pointing at the map, which meant, “The mill has a library.” She looked up at her brother, “Sherlock,” she said, which meant, “Maybe you can research what happened here and clear our parents’ names.”

“Uh-huh,” Klaus said frowning. “And a lumber mill must have a lot of things for you to bite, Sunny.” 

Both children looked at the map when they saw the familiar insignia on the map.

“Eye?” Sunny asked, which meant, “What does it say the eye-shaped building is?” 

“Optimist’s office...I mean, optometrist’s office.” Klaus explained. “Father always said he didn’t trust either. But what does an optometrist’s office have to do with Count Olaf?”

“Accidit,” Sunny pointed out, which meant, “Maybe Phil was right. We should look on the bright side. Maybe the eye is just a coincidence, Klaus.”

“But…”

“No Olaf,” Sunny said, which meant, “This mill may be miserable and fucking horrible, but we haven’t seen a sign of Count Olaf at all.”

“I have my doubts,”

“Denouement,” Sunny replied, which meant, “Maybe we’ve finally found a safe place where Count Olaf won’t find us.”

Klaus sighed but finished his dinner quietly. He didn’t want to argue with Sunny but there was something off about this town, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. As Klaus and Sunny laid down in their shared bunk, both children laid in the dark silently pondering their new lives. Both of them tried to be as optimistic as Phil was. But try as they might, none of their thoughts turned out pleasant or hopeful. They thought of doing hard work in the lumber mill, getting sawdust all over them and being bossed around by a foreman. They thought of the eye-shaped building outside the wooden gate. And most of all, they thought of their parents, their poor parents who have been blamed for a heinous crime and whom they missed so much and whom they would never see again. They thought as Klaus tossed and turned in their shared bunk and Sunny whimpered as quietly as she can, as to not disturb her older brother. They tried and tried to see a shining light in their unhappy circumstances, but as I’m sure you knew already, there wasn’t a single optimist in the Baudelaire bunk. 

I wish I could say that Sunny Baudelaire was right when she said that Count Olaf was nowhere near and that the eye-shaped building was just a mere coincidence, but Klaus had asked his sister the wrong questions. The question that he should’ve been asking was where does Count Olaf’s ex-girlfriend work?

_______________________________________________________

Count Olaf made his way to the front door of the eye-shaped building. He quickly tried his best to fix his appearance, although I must say, it didn’t help at all whatsoever. He knocked on the front door relentlessly. 

“Who is it?” a bitter voice called out finally. Olaf wasn’t sure what he was hearing from the other side of the door but it sounded like darts hitting a wall. 

“I’m looking for Dr. Orwell,” he replied in the nicest tone he could muster.

“Um who’s calling, please?” the voice asked nervously. 

“I’m just an old friend,” 

“Um, Dr. Orwell’s not here right now. And she doesn’t have any old friends,” she called out frantically

“Ah, but this is an old friend who severely regrets his actions,” 

“Really?” Dr. Orwell replied in a suspicious tone. 

“Yes. He’s brokenhearted, and he wants very much to forget the whole thing,” Olaf replied in a sweet, convincing tone.

“So he isn’t just knocking on Dr. Orwell’s door because he needs something for himself ?” Dr. Orwell asked still suspicious of Olaf’s intentions.

Olaf glared at the front door and gave a low growl before chuckling nervously. “No! He’s just in town, looking for Dr. Georgina Orwell, in hopes of somehow making things right! Because life is so short, it is so rare to meet, to find someone who shares one’s brilliance, one’s charm, one’s dubious moral code in a world gone gloriously wrong. Such people must stick together like comrades, like partners---,” Olaf began as Dr. Orwell opened the front door just enough to get a look at the man. “Ah, you’ve changed your hair,” he commented.

“Olaf,”

“Georgina,” 

“I swore I would never let you darken my door again. I took a solemn oath that my office would be closed to you forever, even during my regular business hours.” Dr. Orwell replied shaking her head.

“You’re not still mad about whatever it is I did?” Olaf asked.

“You left me to drown!” Orwell exclaimed.

“Water under the bridge!” 

“That’s where you left me.” She said unamused.

“Are you sure that was you?”

“Sorry, I have my own life now. With my own evil scheme which I’ve put a lot of work into and I don’t need you ruining, like that bar mitzvah.” Orwell replied trying to close the door in Olaf’s face. 

Quickly he stuck his shoe in the way and looked up at Orwell. “What if I told you we had another chance to destroy the Baudelaires?”

Orwell’s face lit up, she turned to Olaf, pausing to stare at him to see if he were telling the truth. “The Baudelaires?” she asked.

“Well, their miserable children this time.” He said rolling his eyes. “Fate has brought us together, again. Fate and fortune .” 

“How big of a fortune are we talking?” Orwell asked as she opened the door for Olaf. Olaf just gave a wicked smile and began to laugh maniacally.

"Tell me, Georgina, do you still have that little hobby of yours?" Olaf asked his eyes shining as a smile plastered on his face.

Georgina looked at him confused. "Of course, I do...why?"

Olaf began laughing again. "I think you're going to enjoy my plan."

________________________________________________________

After tossing and turning for the umpteenth time, Klaus sighed. “Sunny, are you awake.”

Sunny nodded her head and turned to face her brother. “Okay?” she asked concerned. She knew that since the Baudelaires’ stay with Olaf, Klaus had become prone to nightmares.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Why?” she asked, which meant, “Then why’d you ask if I was awake?”

“What Sir said about our parents...you don’t think it could be true.”

“No!” she replied.

“Then you agree what we have to do…” Klaus began. 

“Yes,”

At the same time as Sunny said, “liquet,” which was her way of saying, “Clear their names”, Klaus said, “Get out of here.”

After hearing his sister’s response, he looked at her. “Wait, what?”

“Responsa,” She replied, which meant, “If we clear their names, maybe we can finally get some answers.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t want us here,” Klaus said.

“Solus,” she replied angrily, which meant, “Then they shouldn’t have left us alone,”

“Sunny...you know that’s not what they did.” 

Sunny glared at Klaus and then frowned. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“This isn’t their fault,” Klaus told her. 

“Cautus,” Sunny replied, which meant, “I understand you’re just being cautious...but I don’t think we should run away. You’re the one who said that our answers were here. So we should stay and figure it out.”

Klaus frowned. “I guess...we’re not seeing eye to eye,” As he turned away from Sunny to hide his tears.

“Miss,” she said, which meant, “I wish they were here…”

“I do too,” 

“Shit,” Sunny replied, which meant, “I don’t like this shitty place either. But staying is the best way to find out what our parents were hiding,” 

“No, the best way to find out would be to ask them,” Klaus whimpered. “But we never can,” 

The Baudelaires slowly fell asleep with their backs turned on each other. Both regretting the day they will have tomorrow on their first day at work. Both children hoped that working at a lumber mill would be easier than they expected and easier than how Phil had described but they had their doubts. They didn’t know if they would survive working here for a little over five more years.