#Japan souvenir jackets

[zegalba]

'Personal Effects' by Hiroshi Fujiwara (2009) Gucci Ukiyoe Souvenir Jacket, 2003

[tanuki-kimono]

Modern printed obi by Gofukuya, with a dragon pattern inspired by sukajan embroidered designs.

Sukajan - or souvenir jackets - appeared after WWII when parachutes were used to tailor bomber jacket american soldiers brought back in the US. First mainly decorated with military motifs, they started to be embroidered with Japanese patterns. In the 60′s, sukajan were worn by bad boys but in the past decades, they've made a come back into mainstream fashion.

The listing also have a pic of the whole obi, might be of interest if you'd like to see how patterns are set on an obi lenght. Top of the pic is the te (part folded and wrapped around the torse), bottom is the tare (part used to make the back knot):

[wakanayamazaki]

WAKANAYAMAZAKI　× 　PUNYUS

The Corduroy Souvenir Jacket

[liauditore]

some hc10 joels at @shaklyart's request ✌️

thoughts below

while i am way too into historical costuming with little to no actual knowledge in the field i must say japanese clothing specifically is not my forte (i've always thought other ppl had that field covered) so please forgive any huge glaring inaccuracies i may present here. i am just someone simply nitpicky abt this sort of thing who doesn't actually know what im talking about.

that being said, first fit is a kamishimo + hakama + kimono, fit isn't entirely accurate but i suppose that could be blamed on him being a tourist.

second is a haori over a more casual fit that i felt like he would actually wear. very much going for that meiji-inspired modern fashion type of thing.

third is a souvenir jacket and was my first idea for a japanese joel fit considering its history and aesthetic made the most sense to me but i was afraid it wouldn't scream japan hard enough. i imagine he sewed the patches on himself.

[cherrylng]

My Chemical Romance exclusive sneak peek [INROCK (January 2011)]

L→R: Ray Toro (g.), Gerard Way (vo.), Mikey Way (b.), Frank Iero (g.)

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE Exclusive sneak peek of the private art studio for this magazine!!!!

REPORT: RIE FUJIWARA/Warner Music Japan (★) PHOTOS BY KAORI SUZUKI

Nov. 19, 2010 in Los Angeles

My Chemical Romance continues to treat their albums as works of art. This time, we got an exclusive sneak peek into their private art studio, which is the source of their ideas. The works of art there are, of course, being shown to the public for the first time in the world. It was as if the mysterious world inside the brain of one artist, Gerard Way, was unfolding…

The location chosen for the My Chemical Romance (MCR) photo shoot was an art studio owned by MCR themselves. The location is near Silver Lake, which is famous for being home to many artists and art professionals in Los Angeles. It is hard to explain because there are not many places like this in Japan, but the art studio owned by MCR is a room in a building that is a collection of many square spaces like a warehouse, but with white walls and high ceilings. Gerard's wife, Lindsay, also has her studio in this building, where she holds exhibitions and is the centre of the MCR family's art activities.

When I opened the door, I was first surprised at how small it was. The space is about the size of a four-and-a-half-tatami room [2.5 x 3 metres] (although in reality it was a little larger). Standing at the very back of the room were the four red, green, yellow, and blue dolls that also appeared in the music video for "Na Na Na". Above their heads is an illustration of the spider used on the album cover. One black-painted wall was decorated with handwritten "Na Na Na" lyrics, while the other wall was artistically decorated with Gerard's sketches and drawings. What appeared to be Gerard's sketches were also randomly placed on the desk. Naturally, this studio is all about MCR.

Ray was the first to arrive at the studio. He has that sociable, cheerful personality and chats with the hair and make-up ladies. Gerard was the next to arrive. It's still warm in Los Angeles, so why was he wearing a furry Russian hat with earmuffs? Mikey and Frank came next and went crazy over their souvenir Japanese sweets!! Their favourite was the strawberry-flavoured Koala March, while the second was the classic, Kit Kat matcha-flavoured. The matcha-flavoured Melty Kisses was also a big hit. They couldn't wait for their visit to Japan in February, and the four members fought over the chocolates while gobbling them down.

Once the snacks have filled their stomachs, the photoshoot can begin. First, from inside the studio. The members brought several different jackets. They all asked Gerard for his opinion on which jacket would look best with the background. Gerard checked the balance of everyone and gave quick instructions, saying, “You do this, you do that.” Gerard is in charge of MCR's art direction, but he also manages the band as a fashion leader, and the three members listened to Gerard's advice obediently, giving us a glimpse of the strong unity of MCR, or rather, their friendship, which was a very heartwarming moment. The shoot ended successfully with some shots outside the studio as well. The members were very tired after a gruelling two-week ‘European promotional tour,’ but they were harmonious from start to finish and allowed us to take many wonderful photos.

Translator's Note: There's something pretty funny to picture MCR just gobbling down Japanese snacks to the point that there's a small fight over the chocolates.

Please do support me with Ko-fi! ☕

[hel-looks]

Camilla, 31

”I’m wearing vintage loose pants and kimono jacket from Japan, that was a souvenir for my grandma from her friend in the 80s. Shoes are Buffalo London platform sneakers which are my favorite shoes. Currently my style is mostly about comfort, and mixing and matching various things together.”

26 May 2023, Otaniemi

[sorakazeno]

Sailor Moon Museum 11

The Nakayoshi room was a lot larger but pictures could not be taken in the second half. It contain Naoko Takeuchi's original drawings from the Stars arc and drawing made after the series ended. It was great to the originals up close!

Final room of the exhibit. Art was released when the museum returned in 2024 and these are the same drawing used in the acrylic figures posted earlier this year.

Sailor Moon and Sailor Mercury

Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune

Sailor Pluto and Sailor Chibi Moon

Sailor Mars and Sailor Jupiter

Sailor Jupiter and Sailor Venus

Sailor Chibi Moon and Sailor Saturn

Everyone in their eternal forms. One of things I was looking forward to seeing Sailor Moon Cosmos.

With my favorite Outer Senshi

All the eternal senshi

Thank you art made by Naoko Takeuchi for the exhibit. Drawn on 6/30/2022. Usagi's birthday and the day before the exhibit opened.

Final piece of artwork.

Snapped a quick picture.

Then realized I needed to do the pose. Several people after me did the same.

Beaded curtain that is a replica of the Gates of Time.

Jimmy Choo Sailor Moon piece

I'm glad I was able to see it in person but way too much to even think about owning. My trip to Japan and all of my Sailor Moon merchandise and additional souvenirs was cheaper than these boots. I wish was exaggerating.

The start of the Sailor Moon Store. I was here at least an hour hour looking at everything.

So many goodies.....

They even had some jackets.

Which I passed on both of them.

So much stuff.....

The Museum Store was larger than the store in Harajuku. The store has now explained and is a lot larger. Can't wait to see the new layout!

One more look.

One post left for the Sailor Moon Museum. The Sailor Moon Café!

[lookismstuff]

Lookism Fashion

This type of jacket that Big Daniel is wearing is called the sukajan (skajan) jacket. It's a Japanese souvenir varsity jacket that was first produced after World War II, for souvenirs that the American soldiers stationed in Japan took home.

Actor Yamada Yuki and model Lucky Blue Smith are wearing the similar type of jacket. Yamada's is from the brand Alpha Industries (Fall/Winter 2016). Smith's is from the brand Louis Vuitton (Spring/Summer Menswear 2016).

[rake-rake]

A list of short very random and lowkey weird Yuta hcs

Loves spicy and greasy food

Animals are afraid of him

Wishes his jacket was black bc u got any idea how hard it's to clean blood from white fabric??? Wtf is this punishment

PARKOUR

Prefers to eat with his hands than chopsticks unless it's a need

Very beautiful cursive handwriting (that only he understands)

Listens to MCR and SOAD

Hardcore Soulsborne gamer

Reject Japan return to Kenya (fr he's fucking gone as soon as he can)

Speaking of Kenya. Had a girlfriend while there. They broke up in friendly terms bc he was too gay.

Also had a boyfriend afterwards. Went well until he got cheated on. Ouch.

No but seriously fuck Japan he's so leaving once all shits done he hates it here

Heavy smoker to counter his appetite (can't keep most food down ty CT he won the fucking lottery)

Fuck asiatic martial arts Neo Engolo is his jam

Did his eyeliner with his katana at least once (literal slay)

Kusakabe? More like Dadkabe

Todo's kinda hot ngl but also no

Takada fangirlie but normal about it

Megumi was his gay awakening

Doesn't like Yuji lmao

Gojo neither but yall know that already (Onyx's Gojo is a exception bc murder)

Probably learnt hand signing to communicate with Toge better bc he's a sweetie

Also crashes at his bed at 3am after missions bc company and no talking just sleep

Always brings thoughtful souvenirs for the girlies from all his travels (also for Megumi bc he's an honorary girlie)

Likes teasing Maki and seeing how far he can go before getting hit (worth it)

*Messes up* "It was Miwa-san, Sensei." (Hater)

*Strangles Kinji in his sleep*

Will have a chat with PETA if Panda talks about tits one more time

*Sees Nobara* damn girl you're fucked up lemme train you

Mai = girlboss

Naoya shut the fuck up you got drunk and cried on my shoulder once

"I'm gonna fuck your mom and give her a child she actually loves."

X.

[depperter-hase]

Ziphius, the beaked whale.

This is actually an AU version design of Kai Chisaki, that I started with a friend a while back. It takes place post Tartarus; Kai in his still mentally unstable state, is picked up by the villain Curator, who wants to manipulate him into becoming his loyal henchman. Several months later he emerges as the new villain Ziphius, a man who speaks little, has a tendency to space out and who claims to "be cursed with" a quirk mutation that makes him unable to breath without the mask he wears.

Full design is under cut.

So I kinda just went wild with this one. The design of the mask is inspired by cyberpunk stuff ( bc im just into that ) and mixed with the helmet design of Curator ( the blowhole, the golden barnacles ). The chemical danger symbols I added for the teehee funnies.

The jacket is a so-called Sukajan or "japanese souvenir jackets". In Japan it's associated to be worn by delinquents, and the design of the jackets are reminiscent of Yakuza tattoos. Also they are sick as fuck. I feel like Kai is the kinda person who'd be into this sorta flashy design. The snakes I added bc snakes are associated with health and medicine in Japan. The back design is based off the mythical Ziphius whale which is described as "fish with a beak". I wanted to roughly keep Kai's colour scheme but mixed up how much each colour is used, bc yanno, can't read too obviously as Overhaul.

Natrually, Kai doesn't have his arms anymore so he got robotic protheses instead. Curator wants him to recreate the quirk destroying drug but his brain is so scrambled he keeps misremembering it...

Also, in this AU Kai and Isana are estranged brothers but that's like a whole other can of worms to address about this.

[zegalba]

[monsieuroverlord]

Work doodles I did today during my lunch break.

Fun Fact: Sukajan jackets originated as souvenir jackets for American GIs post-WWII. The name is thought to originate as a portmanteau of “Yokosuka Jumper” (or from “Sky Dragon Jumper” -- the origin is a little unclear). In the 1960s and 1970s, sukajan ironically became a symbol of rejecting American influence, adopted by rebel youth and the counter-culture scene, eventually making their way to yakuza associations.

Up until the 1980s, they were largely made by hand and personalized according to the wearer. For example, GIs would largely commemorate their service, time in Japan, emblems of their unit, or other symbols with significance.

Counter-culture youth Gang members took inspiration from Irezumi and traditional Japanese elements such as dragons, tigers, cherry blossoms, etc. 

Nowadays, it’s experienced a resurgence in popularity all over the world in the fashion industry, even in “high-end labels” such as Tom Ford, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and others. 

Anyways, since its canon that Akihiro has had/worn sukajan, why wouldn’t he have had a custom-made one from his youth? Perhaps stashed away somewhere because a) kept it hidden from Romulus (as a sign of defiance) b) its old and special and c) a vinatge sukajan is worth a fucking ton -- especially the custom ones and he’s not fucking around with feral collectors.

I chose centipedes ‘cause that’s what his tattoo was originally supposed to depict, higanbana to correspond with theme of death and decay, maple leaves, and a hint of bamboo grass

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Tsukimitsu Ochi

[PROFILE]

Birthday: August 15th (Leo)

Blood Type: A

Relatives: Grandfather, Grandmother, Father, Mother, Cat

Father’s Occupation: University Professor

Middle School: Hyotei Academy Junior High School (graduate)

High School: Hyotei Academy High School

Grade: Third Year

Committee: Library Committee

Strong Subjects: Modern Literature, English Grammar

Weak Subjects: Biology

U-17 Training Camp Position & Rank: First String | No.9

World Cup Team: U-17 World Cup Japanese Representatives

Favorite Motto: “Succeeding with the sun, progressing with the moon.”

Hobbies: Go, bonsai [TP]

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Book: Howling at the Moon by Sakutaro Hagiwara

Favorite Food: Water, sarashina soba

Favorite Anniversary: February 22nd (National Cat Day)

Preferred Type: A girl who doesn’t mind silence

Ideal Date Spot: Eating bento while forest bathing

His Gift for a Special Person: “Words that will express my gratitude.”

Where He Wants to Travel: Malta

What He Wants Most Right Now: A soba-making set ➜ Famous drinking water from across Japan [23.5]

Dislikes: Dogs, smiling ➜ Dogs running away from him, having to smile [TP]

Skills Outside of Tennis: Taking walks (long distance [23.5]), can tame wild animals [TP]

Routine During the World Cup: Practicing smiling

[DATA]

Height: 226cm

Weight: 103kg

Dominant Arm: Right

Vision: 0.8 Left & Right

Play Style: Counter Puncher

Signature Moves: Mach Serve

Favorite Brands:

Racket: Babolat AEROPRO LITE

Shoes: ASICS GEL-RESOLUTION5

Overall Rating: Speed: 6 / Power: 4 / Stamina: 4 / Mental: 7 / Technique: 4 / Total: 25

Kurobe Memo: “With his 100% accuracy serve, he has the markings of an excellent singles tennis player. However, in the match against Niou and Atobe, he showed unwavering will power. He may be a little lonely as his gaze tends to keep even animals away.”

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis II 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 09/04/2013

He attended Hyotei Academy Junior High and was captain of the tennis club

He contemplates on changing the color of his highlights

People are often frightened by him due to his height and long bangs

He takes meticulous care of his racquet

He was drawn in the image of a samurai

He was randomly paired with Mouri by the coaches

The Prince of Tennis II 23.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 05/02/2018

What’s in His Travel Bag: Graduation gifts from middle school // Cat souvenirs. Given to him from the student with red highlights (Kazuki Yuuki)

He gets cold easily. When he goes to bed, his arms and legs stick out from his futon, and he is always concerned about getting cold. He keeps his jacket zipped all the way up because of it

Konomi states he and Mouri would have won their match against Atobe and Niou had he not let them receive the point from Kabaji interfering

He and Oishi are Konomi’s favorite high school-middle school pair

The Prince of Tennis 20th Anniversary Book: Tenipuri Party | Publication Date: 08/02/2019

He and Mouri are nicknamed the “Twin Towers”

His ideal relationship is a quiet one, where he and his partner take things slow

His cat has white fur with blue highlights. He decided to match his hair with them when he entered middle school

He is very popular at his school. Other students have put highlights in their hair because of him

The Prince of Tennis II Hyotei Academy Junior High School Tennis Club Guide: “CALL” | Publication Date: 04/02/2021

During his middle school days, he was an undefeated singles player

Konomi describes him as a “humble man”

One of His Off Days at the Training Camp:

5:30am - Wakes up, has breakfast (just soup)

6:00am - Goes on a walk, finds rare birds

7:30am - Plays a game of Go with Yanagi

9:00am - Attends a meeting with the other First Stringers (several people are absent)

11:30am - Lunch (interested in having tororo soba with Omagari)

1:00pm - Watches the middle schoolers practice their serves

2:30pm - Reads at the library, finds Mouri sleeping beside him out of nowhere

5:00pm - Takes another walk, finds someone’s hat and returns it to them

6:00pm - Dinner, gets mixed up in a fish vs. meat debate but is not interested

8:00pm - Voluntary training, then bathes

10:30pm - Gazes at the moon which boosts his spirit, listens to the playing of a saxophone

11:00pm - Warms his body, then goes to bed

[annikavelde]

{.728.}

.:ANATOMY:. Head: LeLutka - Ceylon Body: Ebody - Reborn Hair: VCO - SEUL Tongue: The Deadboy - Morus Tongue

.:CLOTHING:. Mech Ears: VCO - Fox Ears Earrings: Minuit - Minzy Earrings Face Chain: AZARAN -  Angel Face Chain Lollipop: The Deadboy - Licky or Treat Jacket: SHIFUKU - Souvenir Jacket - PINK *NEW* @ NEO JAPAN Top: MIWAS - Angelica Top Panties: Dios - Mimi Thong Shorts: Palette - Arissa Shorts 

.:SCENE:. Background: MINIMAL - Seul Scene Pose: Mirinae - Enina *NEW* @ Kinky Event

[fastwiemagie]

A lovely spring afternoon

Point of fashion: my newly thrifted pastel green jacket (that just screams spring)

Full outfit rundow :

Thrifted pastel green jacket

Second hand black dress with floral print (worn over black long sleeve)

Handmade mint green maxi skirt

Beloved pastel turquoise scarf with flowers and butterflies

Cute bag with gingerbread houses on it

Black booties

I went to a local Korean supermarket for some snacks, met up with a friend and went to this cute little Japanese store with her where I finally found a little water bottle!! I've been looking for one for ages but didn't find any that met my criteria (practical but cute). Plus my friend gave me a little hello kitty figurine she brought me as a souvenir from her recent holiday in Japan!! I'm so happy she thought of me!

Then we met up with another friend and went for pastries and later one cocktail each (with some potato & vegetable chips aswell). It was a lovely time with my friends!! And I'm so happy with my new spring jacket. Perfect addition to my wardrobe!

[pengychan]

[The Great Ace Attorney] A Case of Identity - Ch. 10

Summary: On that fateful night in Lowgate cemetery, the bullet finds its target in Enoch Drebber. When he awakens he’s locked behind an iron mask, facing a lifetime of imprisonment as the mass murderer who survived a botched execution - the Professor. However, help is afoot. Characters: Enoch Drebber, Esmeralda Tusspells, Herlock Sholmes, Yujin Mikotoba, Tobias Gregson, Gina Lestrade, Mael Stronghart Rating: T Prologue and all other chapters will be tagged as ‘case of identity’ on my blog.

A/N: After... several chapters, Drebber is back on the screen. He hasn't been having a good time.

***

They were ten days into their journey home when Seishiro Jigoku’s world - what was left of it, as splintered as the remains of the bench he’d destroyed back in a British courtroom - came crashing down on him.

The day had started as well as it possibly could. He had left his cabin to get some fresh air above deck and, after a time, Genshin had joined him. The ship was too full of passengers, they had reasoned, for any of the crew to notice an extra face; only a complete idiot would spend the entire journey crammed inside a closet. They had been right, and no one had noticed a thing. All would go well as long as they were not spotted leaving or entering the cabin together… and as long as Genshin left Karuma in said cabin, which he did even though it seemed to cause him physical pain.

“And even if they notice, what then? They’ll just drop us in whatever country we make port next, and we can make our own way back to Japan. Pick up some souvenirs for your kid, and stories to share with Yujin when we meet up at home,” Jigoku had said, succeeding in getting a small smile out of Genshin as they gazed together at the vast expanse of water between them and Great Britain. It made Jigoku breathe more easily, and all was well. For a time.

Later on, he would recall that day with perfect clarity. How they’d been above deck for nearly a hour before a seagull with remarkable aim had forced Jigoku to go below deck to change his jacket. He’d noticed, out of the corner of the eye, an abandoned old newspaper stuck beneath the seat he’d occupied until that moment, but thought absolutely nothing of it. He did not see, as he went below deck, Genshin leaning over to pick it up, clearly seeking to read something to pass time. He was not there as his friend read, and understood.

He’d been halfway into his clean jacket when, only minutes later, the door of their cabin had slammed open, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. He’d turned to ask Genshin if he’d lost his mind, but words died in his throat the second their gazes met. 

He knows, was all he could think, and all strength went out of his legs. He sat on the bed heavily, causing the springs to groan, trying to come up with something to say and failing to utter a sound. 

“Seishiro,” Genshin had said, looking at him with eyes cold as metal, newspaper crumpled in a hand that just barely shook. “We need to talk.”

***

“Mon Dieu, if I have to spend one more hour looking at this man’s face, I won’t be held responsible for my actions with this scalpel.”

“I am afraid there is no other option.”

“Perhaps we could break inside his residence--”

“Miss Tusspells, I don’t think--”

“-- brick him in the head--”

“Miss Tusspells--”

“-- and shove his face in a mold. And hold it there. Possibly until he stops breathing.”

“That seems… unnecessarily violent.”

“I am toning it down, Monsieur Stangerson. Back in my home country, we’d separate the head from the body first. That’s why we no longer have royalty lounging around on our taxes.”

“I’m not saying that doesn’t make a compelling argument for the guillotine, nor that I would be entirely opposed to the idea of hurting the man responsible for this nightmare. But if we are caught anywhere near Stronghart, then we may never get to Drebber.”

“Or we’d get to where he is remarkably quickly.”

“Well-- yes. But given that the aim is to get him out of prison eventually, joining him there feels… counterproductive.”

“You Brits and your insufferable practicality.”

Stangerson gave a sheepish smile, and did not argue further. Truth be told, he did not seem in the right shape to argue. He barely looked fit to be alive. While Esmeralda Tusspells spent days and nights studying all the photographs of the Lord Chief Justice of London she could get her hands on, and making model after model of wax faces to match his features as accurately as possible without the use of a mold, Joseph Stangerson had busied himself trying to create some sort of chemical compound that, mixed to the wax, would allow the mask to retain its shape even with warm skin beneath it.

And that had taken a toll. The burns and nicks on his hands seemed to have multiplied, and were moving up to his elbows for some reason. A chemical burn marred his chin, where a scraggly brown beard was struggling to grow on previously clean-shaven skin, and there still were patches of reddened skin after the first attempt at creating the compound had made his entire face break out in hives. He now had two smoldering locks of hair on his head, which as a whole looked very much like a bird’s nest recently abandoned by fledglings. His eyes were more than slightly bloodshot, too. 

Honestly, he looked more the part of the bloodthirsty Professor than his friend had that night in the cemetery. She could only hope none of the neighbors had seen him getting inside her residence, because she had already been getting more than her fair share of curious and distrustful looks. It didn’t take much to gain those, she’d found out quickly: a clear foreign accent proved to be more than enough.

“... You should sleep, Monsieur. You’re working yourself half to death.”

“So are you, Mademoiselle."

“Please, ‘Miss’ will do. Your French accent is horrible.”

“Oh.”

“And my work involved modeling wax. I don’t need to put hazardous chemicals on my skin.” She looked down at a photograph of Mael Stronghart, frowning. “Although having to look at this mug all day is a torment of its own.”

A weak chuckle. “I will rest once Drebber is out of prison, and Stronghart takes his place. But I am fairly certain this compound will do the trick,” he added, gesturing at the bowl with the liquid wax where said compound had been mixed. “As soon as it’s cooled, you can use it for the mask. I’ll try it on right away.”

“We should call Dr. Mikotoba first, perhaps. Just in case you break out in hives again.”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “No, no need. It’s nothing I cannot handle, and the last thing I want is taking his attention and Mr. Sholmes’ off their investigation into the case.” He turned to the window to look at the overcast sky. Tusspells knew he was probably wondering if Drebber had seen any of that sky in the two weeks since his imprisonment. “Whatever they’re doing right now, it must be important,” Stangerson added, and she rolled her eyes.

“Playing nannies is what they’re doing.”

“Gina has information. Or so we were told.”

“Even if she did at some point, she doesn’t remember, and she’s too young to be involved in… any of this,” she said, entirely ignoring the fact she had, herself, only just turned sixteen years old.

“All the more reason to keep her safe,” Stangerson reploed, and Tusspells had nothing to argue against that. In the end she sighed, and looked back at the wax. It was starting to harden enough for her to handle. With gloves, just in case Stangerson’s formula was… off.

“Well, it looks like it won’t scald anymore. Give me the gloves, and let’s see how good a mask this makes…”

Stangerson handed her the gloves and stayed silent as she worked and worked and worked, as evening fell and so did the London fog.

***

When he was twelve years old - a very long time ago, it felt, but then again nearly every memory he had of his childhood seemed shrouded in fog and remote like the ghostly apparitions of some nursery rhymes - Lord Mael Stronghart saw a goldfish for the first time.

It was one of the very few that a family friend had been able to bring from a trip to China. It was being shown off as the centerpiece of a table during a dinner to celebrate its return, one of the very first such occasions he’d been allowed to attend with his parents, rather than being left home with the governess. 

The fish was swimming round and round in the bowl, all red with just some hints of gold on its belly; it had fascinated the guests and, as the youngest attendant, Mael had probably been expected to be fascinated most of all. 

Yet he was not; animals seldom held his interest. He spared the fish a few moments’ attention before he turned it back to what truly fascinated him: the family friend’s trip to China. How had he traveled? By ship, by train, by road? How long had it taken? How long to get back? How wonderful was it that a world seemingly so vast had now become so small, a man could travel all the way to China and back within the year? 

“And soon it will take less than that,” the man had laughed, clearly amused by his curiosity. “They’ve just now started to dig a canal in Egypt that can more than halve that time. You could go to China and back within four months, they say. Isn’t that marvelous?”

It was, Mael had agreed. Not that he much cared to travel to China, he’d have to be back to boarding school within the week anyway, but the thought he could do that if he just wanted to left him feeling almost dizzy. And the canal! A man-made canal, carving a new path between the North Atlantic and northern Indian oceans. Advancement! Man, the might of man, carving civilization’s path across the world. How far technology had come, how much further could it still go! Mind entirely occupied by such thoughts, he had barely even glanced back at the goldfish as he left with his parents at the end of the dinner. 

Yet now, thirty years later, that goldfish was all he could think about. Swimming round and round in the same glass bowl, forever ignorant of what was happening beyond it; able to see only a distorted part of the world outside, and unable to act upon it. It was not something Stronghart had ever thought about before: since boyhood, he’d always found a way to exert his will on those around him. Until now. 

Now he was the goldfish stuck in a bowl, swimming round and round and unable to go anywhere. 

Two weeks. Two weeks since everything had gone to hell because one accursed thief - a child! - stole Van Zieks’ last will and testament from him. What a fool he had been to let it happen, to even risk taking a few steps with it in his pocket rather than burning it right there and then! He should have let the ashes fall in the water as he watched the steamship leave down the Thames with Jigoku and Asogi back home to Japan - through the Suez canal, of course. They were away from Her Majesty’s reach, and free.

And he was there, feeling as though he’d been stuck in a glass prison, pacing back and forth with the knowledge the document that could undo him was out there somewhere, unable to get anything done about it as this Gina Lestrade, and the testament, kept eluding him.

For two weeks. 

A lesser man, Stronghart was sure, would have been driven insane by the situation. There had been times when he’d thought he might crack, after all, holding himself together out of sheer force of will. At night it got worse, because he’d see himself standing at the gallows, the executioner reading the will out loud for the crowd to hear before he pulled the lever and let him fall. 

He always woke up with a scream in his chest, something around his throat. But not the rope. It was never rope.

May you feel the jaws of the beast at your throat.

But perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to turn his neck away from those jaws. Two weeks without a trace of Van Ziek’s last words, but no one had come from him. No word had got out. Everything had carried on as normal.

“I think we may as well start winding down the search,” Inspector Gregson had told him the previous day. “Lord Stronghart, if that death certificate was to fall into the wrong hands, it would have already happened. A piece of paper, in the hands of a street urchin unlikely to know how to read out her own name? She must have thrown it away, maybe in the river right after she stole it or on the streets for people and horses to trample it. It’s been raining cats and dogs, too. The document will have been reduced to pulp by now.”

There was logic in the man’s words, Stronghart knew it. It was possible - very likely, even - that Van Ziek’s testament had been destroyed, one way or another, taking the man’s ghost and that of his accursed beast with him. It was only in his imagination and nightmares that they yet lived. Stronghart was a man of logic, after all. Still…

“... But Gina Lestrade has not been found,” he had replied, the grip on his cane as tight as the invisible one on his throat. “How can a single child escape Scotland Yard for so long?”

Gregson had met his gaze, and his expression was grim. “Maybe she’s gone, too. Children disappear all the time in London. Sometimes nameless corpses wind up, sometimes they don’t. We know that.”

There had been a brief silence. Neither had spoken, but now another ghost was hanging between them, dripping mud and water. The case that broke the camel’s back, for all of them, and all three - himself, Van Zieks, Inspector Gregson - took matters into their own hands. Van Zieks had been a sentimental fool, Gregson too naive to see the bigger picture, but they all had wanted to do the right thing. Doesn’t every decent man on Earth seek to do the right thing? Isn’t the only difference between them the price they’re willing to pay for it?

Criminals and murderers walk free and we are powerless to put a stop to it!

Three months of age. Emaciated. Congealed blood. Did not drown.

What will you do once you have run out of plots to bury them?

In the end, Stronghart had nodded in agreement. Yes, that the document had been lost was a strong probability; that Gina Lestrade had vanished like so many other children of London, never to resurface again, was a distinct possibility. Plus, the more he kept up the intense search, the more questions would be asked, even within the ranks of Scotland Yard. So in the end he had agreed to wind down, although not to end, the search. 

So now, as he gazed outside his office at the city below, he knew only a handful of agents were still making discreet enquiries and following up leads on the possible whereabouts of a street urchin called Gina Lestrade. If found, she’d be taken to him and questioned, to find out what she had become of the document - if it still existed or not. If she knew nothing at all of what she’d handled, he’d ensure she was taken to an institution where she could perhaps be educated into becoming a decent member of society. If she did, somehow, know the meaning of those words in red ink…

Stronghart’s thoughts halted, like the cogwheels of a clock that had not been properly oiled. He was a man of logic; he knew the answer. He knew that for him to survive, for the very future of the country he was meant to serve, there could be no witnesses other than the two he had been forced to let go. Yet for all the sense his logic made, and for all the grief she’d caused him, something within him balked before he could finish that thought. An annoying scruple, a  wrench in a perfect mechanism.

If the girl was found, and if she knew, he’d have to rid himself of that wrench and do what he must. It was not a thought he enjoyed.

Perhaps they would find her body. He did not particularly enjoy that idea either, but it would take a problem off his back. If she was never found… then probability was all he could rely on. The probability that she was gone and so was the will. The probability Van Ziek’s words could never harm him. The possibility that, as time passed, the jaws poised to snap closed on his neck would loosen and then vanish entirely. They had to.

Lord Stronghart couldn’t fathom the idea he would always feel that grip on his throat.

***

“You’re strangling me, sunshine, let-- ack! Let go of my tie!”

“C’mon! One more round! It’s my turn t’ deal the cards.”

“No. I have to--”

“I’m boooored here! Haven’t gone out in days!”

“I’m a police inspector, with a job to do, and besides--”

“Mph. Sore loser.”

“You’ve been cheating, kid!”

“Prove it!”

“Uuuugh! Sholmes! You have seen her cheating, right?”

From the other side of the living room, Sholmes looked up at baby Iris and the bottle of milk she was in the process of devouring. He smiled, seraphic as can be. “Sorry, my good man. I was paying attention to far more serious matters,” he declared, causing Gina to stop yanking at Gregson’s tie and turn. 

“Oh! Beaten ‘er record?”

“She is well on course to finish this bottle under the three minute mark, so I expect her to establish a new personal record just about… now.” Sholmes grinned and lifted the bottle to show it off, and sure enough it was empty. As Iris immediately stuck her entire left fist in a now empty mouth, Gina cheered like her horse had just placed first at Cheltenham and dropped to sit right on Gregson’s aching knees. He grumbled, but didn’t try to push her away.

“You’ll bust my kneecaps if you keep that up, sunshine,” was all he muttered, fixing his tie and making sure she hadn’t taken anything from his pockets. Having to ask for his badge back once was embarrassing enough. “You’re getting heavy.” 

Gina - who truth be told was getting heavier on three square meals a day and no need to run through the streets to lose pursuers, but was still a shrimp of a kid - tilted up her face to look at him, scrunching her nose. “You’re jus’ old and creaky.”

“It’s been rainy.”

“Course it ‘as. We’re in London.”

“Mph. Keep that up, and I might march you to the Lord Chief Justice myself,” he grunted, like he’d do that after the trouble he’d gone through to get him off her back. Well, at least mostly off her back, winding down the search. Not that she’d thanked him for it. “... You really still don’t remember what it is you took from him, or are you dragging this on so we keep feeding you?”

“I don’t remember nuttin’!”

Somewhere on his left, Dr. Mikotoba cleared his throat. “These things can take time, Inspector. Trying to force it would bring no results, and put Gina under unnecessary pressure,” he said, infuriatingly calm as always, like it wasn’t his damn good friend who had caused that entire mess in the first place, going around murdering aristocrats like there was no tomorrow and then killing the best prosecutor the Old Bailey had ever seen. Like a man wasn’t rotting alive in an underground cell with an iron mask on his face, like a bunch of kids weren’t being held in cells for no reason other than Stronghart’s hope that the girl currently sitting on his knees might show up to try and bargain for her friends’ freedom.

And maybe she would, if she knew. But she didn’t seem to remember the raid, nor the chase that led to her falling into the river and nearly drowning, and Gregson was not eager to remind her. Besides, what good would it do, telling her that her friends were languishing in jail cells?

Just a little girl.

Gregson swallowed, and pushed the thought off his mind just as a knock came at the door. Gina immediately jumped off his knees - ow, his kneecaps - and sprinted upstairs, as she had been instructed to do whenever someone knocked. Gregson strongly doubted that if Stronghart and the rest of Scotland Yard tracked her down to Baker Street they would be so polite to knock, but… just in case. 

And of course, it was not Scotland Yard. A young boy stood at the door with a letter in his hand; a couple of coins exchanged hands, and Sholmes read the message he had come to deliver. It was a short one for sure: within a couple of moments he grinned widely and looked over at Gregson, still rocking Iris in the crook of his left arm. 

“Well, Inspector,” he said. “Mr. Stangerson and Mademoiselle Tusspells are cordially inviting you to escort the esteemed Lord Chief Justice of London to Barclay prison at your earliest convenience.”

***

Gregson’s earliest convenience, as it turned out, was three days later - one a day when he knew Lord Stronghart would be occupied with some other official business whose nature Sholmes didn’t bother to investigate. It would keep him busy all afternoon, and that was the important part. 

“After all, it would be rather embarrassing if the Lord Chief Justice decided to drop by right in the middle of your visit,” he’d said with a smile. “Governor Caidin would find himself awfully confused, faced with not one but two Lord Strongharts. Twice the intimidation factor I would say. Don’t you agree?”

“This plan is all kinds of stupid and there is no way he won’t be able to tell he’s not looking at the real Stronghart,” Gregson had grumbled back, ever the optimist. However, now that he stood in his living room again, watching Stangerson getting ready… he seemed to be at least suitably impressed with the mask. 

Despite the lack of a mold, Esmeralda Tusspells had done an incredibly accurate job in reproducing the features of Lord Chief Justice Mael Stronghart - indeed, it was as though they were looking at the man’s own face, stripped from his skull. Perhaps it was only a touch paler than his real complexion - the photos, after all, couldn’t be accurate in that regard - but not so much to be noticeable. The prison was never terribly well lit, either. 

“I must say, this wig is a thing of beauty,” Sholmes commented, picking up the wig Tusspells had made - a perfect replica of the man’s somewhat unusual hair. “I could use a few new wigs myself. Perhaps I can commission you?”

“As long as you pay me in money and not just platitudes. Monsieur Stangerson, please hold your breath…”

Poor Mr. Stangerson did hold his breath, and to his credit he only let out a small strangled noise as both Tusspells and Mikotoba pulled hard on the strings of the girdle, to tighten it as much as possible and make his rather portly midsection resemble Stronghart’s built more closely. His eyes were just a little bloodshot by the time they finished lacing it up; along with the pale complexion, though, it might make it easier to make anyone they may meet believe that the Lord Chief Justice was suffering from an annoying cold and sore throat which kept him from speaking. 

“Try not to wheeze too much,” Tusspells muttered, and helped him put the coat on. Next was the waxen mask, the wig, and…

“... Well, blow me,” Gregson muttered, eyes wide. Before them, standing rigidly - not that the girdle left much of a choice - was Mael Stronghart himself, or so it seemed. About the right height, shoulders just the right breadth with a little padding to help, blue eyes looking at them from a face that seemed set in stone, yet perfectly real. 

It came across as intimidating, too, which may be the reason why Gregson had to work his jaw for a few moments before he spoke. “All right,” he said in the end. “As long as you don’t say a word, sunshine, this actually might work.”

***

This is never going to work. We’re screwed. We’re so screwed. 

That thought kept circling into Stangerson’s mind, over and over, and he was pretty sure absolutely all of it was showing clear as day on his face. However, as said face was covered in a waxen mask in the likeness of the Lord Chief Justice of London, the prison governor didn’t see it. Truth be told, he looked as though he was doing his absolute best not to look at the man he believed to be Stronghart in the eye, and that suited Stangerson just fine. 

He’d never been the type to easily hold eye contact even in the best of circumstances, and this was certainly not the best of circumstances. He’d never before felt so ready to scream, flee, and fight at the same time. 

Is Drebber here? Do you know it’s not the right man, locked in this prison? Where is he? Give him back, give him back, give him back. 

“... And no, he didn’t tell me why he wants to see him -  and besides, it would be none of our business even if he wasn’t out of voice,” Gregson was saying, arms crossed, a foot tapping impatiently. “Surely the Lord Chief Justice can see any prisoner he pleases without the need to explain himself or ask for permission, no?”

“Uh… aye, of course…” Barry Caidin cleared his throat, still looking mightily uncomfortable, and finally glanced over at Stangerson. From his part, he said nothing - now that would be a bad idea - but made a point to cross his arms in an impatient gesture, and it got the point across. 

Let me see him. Let me see him now. 

Finally, the governor of Barclay prison went to open a drawer, and retrieved a set of heavy keys. “... Right this way,” he muttered, voice gruff, still not looking either of them in the eye. It took all of Stangerson’s willpower to keep breathing normally and follow calmly, rather than grabbing the key and making a run for it. 

Well. All of his willpower, and Inspector Gregson’s iron grip on his arm. That helped, too, as they walked through a long, narrow corridor. Stangerson made an effort to look at nothing but Caidin’s back, focusing on nothing on what he was there to do. The noises coming from elsewhere in the building - something hitting bars, keys being turned in locks, a few shouts - sounded muffled and far away. Stangerson shut those out, too.

And finally, there was the door. Just looking at it was enough to fill Stangerson with dread. Heavy wood and old iron, locked shut by an iron bar, itself secured in place by a formidable padlock. It was the sort of thing one would expect to see used to hold in a beast, not a man. He held his breath as it was unlocked and then opened, revealing a staircase faintly illuminated by gas lamps; it may as well be the mouth of Hell. 

The hinges, of course, creaked. “Here. I’m not allowed in usually, but if you want me to come now--” Caidin began, only for Gregson to silence him with a gesture.

“That won’t be needed. Wait here,” he said, and turned to Stangerson with a small nod. He nodded back silently, pale as ash under the mask, and into the mouth of Hell they went.

***

“Careful where you step, sir. I can hardly see the steps.”

“I still can’t believe they fell for--”

“Shut up, sunshine. Our voices echo,” Gregson hissed, and Stangerson - still looking so very eerily like Lord Mael Stronghart, particularly in the dim light - had the good sense to keep quiet instead of responding. They both kept going down for what felt like a long time, a hand braced against the stone wall for balance. 

Gregson wasn’t looking forward to a ruinous fall down those old steps, but then again he was looking forward to precisely nothing of what they’d see down there. Whatever that would be. 

The steps ended, and they had to pause several moments to let their eyes adjust. The room around them was bare, dimly it by yet more gas lights; at the far end of the room, very high up, there was a window, letting in at least some weak sunlight. Between them and that window there were heavy iron bars - and against those bars, sitting in the oddly disjointed way of a discarded mannequin, there was a man.

Something seemed to grab Gregson’s stomach and squeeze. Their steps had echoed, and it was hard to believe the prisoner had not heard them coming; was he even alive? Was he breathing? He couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Had it taken them too long, had they come to find a corpse in an iron mask? If he was dead, how would they even know--

“Drebber!”

Stangerson called out before Gregson could do anything to stop him, and made to run to the prisoner - only to skid to a halt, as though frozen on the spot, when the man inside the cell jolted and screamed.

It was wordless, more an animal cry that anything Gregson had ever heard come from the mouth of a human being. The prisoner scrambled back, scuttling away from the bars on his hands and backside. For all the things he had seen in his line of work, Gregson knew he would never forget this sight - what remained of a man, face locked behind an iron mask, trying to drag his emaciated frame away from them with limbs that seemed entirely too long. It was too dark to see the eyes behind the holes of that mask. Maybe it was a blessing. 

“Drebber-- is it you? Talk to me, please--”

“No!” The prisoner’s back hit the wall, and he drew his knees to his chest like a scared boy. The head, so grotesquely large with that mask around it, swung back and forth so hard it hit the wall with a clang. “No, no, no, no! Not you! Not you!”

“That voice-- Drebber! It’s you! Thank God, we’ve found--”

“No!” A choked out noise, and Enoch Drebber’s entire frame shook. “No such name. No such name. I’ll be the Professor.”

“Drebber--”

“I’ll be anything you want! Anything! Please! I’ll never tell! I’ll never tell…!”

Gregson tried to grab Stangerson’s arm again, he really did, but the bloke was strong, and tore it out of his grasp with hardly any effort. May as well have shaken off a fly, Gregson thought as he watched the student run the rest of the way to the bars. They were just a few strides apart now, two friends separated only by prison bars and masks, one of wax and one of iron; yet Drebber’s mind seemed so broken, they may as well have been on different continents, speaking different languages.

“Drebber, it’s me! In God’s name--!” Stangerson’s hands went to the wax mask on his face, and this time Gregson was able to stop him, grabbing his wrists and yanking.

“Don’t! Don’t touch it! You’ll ruin it and neither of us will be able to leave again!” he growled. 

Stangerson’s eyes gave him an anguished look from Lord Stronghart’s face, but he did not try to take the mask off again. Curled against the wall, Drebber let out another choking sound. 

“No God. There is no God. Father was wrong and mother is nowhere and there is nothing--”

“Enoch! Please! It’s me! Stangerson!”

It was hard to tell what snapped Drebber from his delirium - hearing his own name, or Stangerson’s. But the litany of nonsense coming out of his mouth stopped, and his head jerked upright, mask and all. He was still curled in a tight ball, but at least he was looking at them - or at least, the black holes in the mask were staring at them. It made Gregson shudder.

“Stangerson?” he whispered. It was as though he had just heard a familiar word in a stream of gibberish, but nothing about his voice suggested he had understood what Stangerson had told him. He still did not know who he was speaking to. 

“Yes! Joseph Stangerson!” The young man’s voice sounded as though he was choking back tears. “You remember me, yes? Tell me you remember!”

“He…” Drebber shook his head and began to rock, back and forth, back and forth. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know I’m gone.”

“I know! And-- and Hope knows! And Miss Ferrier, and--”

“They don’t know, they don’t know, no one knows.” A groan, and he bowed his head again. His voice came out a keening plea. “Don’t harm them, they know nothing. They’ll never know. I won’t tell anyone. Please…”

Somewhere above them, Caidin’s voice called out. “All good down there?”

No, Gregson thought. Nothing is good here, and you know it or at least you guessed it, and you’re just looking the other way. Everyone is. What have you done? What have we done?

“All good!” he called back instead, a hand gripping Stangerson’s shoulder. “We’re coming back up!”

“What-- no, we must--”

“We must go, sunshine. He’s in no state to be of use. He can’t even tell us what happened,” he said, and gripped the young man’s shoulder more tightly. “We know for a fact he’s here now. We’ll think of a way to help him. But we must get out of here first, with Caidin none the wiser.”

A shaky breath, but to his relief Stangerson seemed to understand that they had no other choice. He let go of the bars, slowly, and stepped back. 

“We’ll be back,” he managed. “We’ll get you out, Enoch, I swear.”

The broken man on the floor had curled into a tight ball by now, and gave no response; there was nothing more they could do other than turn back to the stairs. No words were spoken during their ascent, nor when they stepped outside the prison. 

Somehow, even sunlight felt cold.

***

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