#and then hammed it up too much so it became a little incomprehensible

[wainswright]

music theory basics

but Not Really, this is specifically about trying to write out my confusion with his video, but to start:

"In music theory, a scale is any set of musical notes ordered by fundamental frequency or pitch." (wikipedia) A scale in common parlance is set between between two pitches that are an octave apart. A scale is an interval pattern of pitches between two pitches that are an octave apart.

Octave is a technical term based off of frequency: "Modern Western music uses a system called equal temperament (ET for short). The table below shows the frequency ratios for all intervals from unison up to an octave. (Unison is the musical name for the “interval” between two identical notes.)"

An octave is “the distance between one note and another note that’s double its frequency. For instance, the note A4 is the sound of a vibration at 440 Hz. The note A5 is the sound of a vibration at 880 Hz. Going in the other direction, the note A3 is the sound of a vibration at 220Hz.���

So: a scale is a set of pitches within an octave, and the smallest interval they are 'divided' by in western music is the semitone, or half step. Semitones:

Equal temperament divides the octave into twelve identical intervals (called half-steps or semitones). As a result, each semitone corresponds to a frequency ratio of  2(1/12)2(1/12). What this means is a note a semitone above 100Hz100𝐻𝑧 has a frequency of 2(1/12)∗100Hz2(1/12)∗100𝐻𝑧, or roughly 106Hz106𝐻𝑧. Note:  2(1/12)2(1/12) can also be written as 12√2212 and is roughly equal to 1.06. When you “stack” musical intervals, the frequency ratios multiply together– not add. A semitone is a factor of 12√2212 because going up twelve semitones in a row must be the same thing as going up one octave. If you multiply 12√2212 by itself twelve times in a row, you get two- exactly the right frequency ratio for the octave. Other intervals in ET are built by “stacking” semitones. Each semitone you go up (or down) increases (or decreases) the frequency by a factor of (12√2)(212). Go up (or down) certain number of semitones, the frequency increases (decreases) by a factor of (12√2)n(212)𝑛 where n𝑛 represents the number of semitones you go up.  You can combine these ideas into a single equation: f1=f2∗(12√2)n𝑓1=𝑓2∗(212)𝑛 Here’s the same equation written with fractional exponents (rather than root signs); f1=f2∗2(n/12)𝑓1=𝑓2∗2(𝑛/12) In the equation, f2𝑓2 represents the frequency you want to find and f1𝑓1 is the frequency of the note you start with. Use positive numbers for n𝑛 if the frequency you want to find is higher than the frequency you are given. Use negative numbers if you are going down in pitch. Charts with note names and corresponding frequencies are freely available on the web- search on “note name frequency chart” to see a selection. Almost all of these charts are generated using the equation above, using the frequency 440 Hz for the note A4 as the starting point. (This standard note is often called A440).

Equal temperament is the most common system for musical intervals but it is not the only one. Early temperament systems based musical intervals frequency ratios based on whole numbers. Pythagorean temperament defines a perfect fifth as a frequency ratio of 3:2 and defines all other notes in terms of the perfect fifth. Just temperament defines all intervals in terms of fractions of whole numbers. The advantage of these older temperaments is that musically important intervals (like perfect fifths and major thirds) are perfectly in tune with the overtones wind and string instruments produce. The drawback is that non-ET systems do not handle key signatures changes well. In non-ET systems, musical notes produced in one key signature (say D major) do not produce the same musical intervals when music of a different key signature (say C major) is played.

Even just hearing the above causes every musician to start trying to catalogue how inadequate ET is to record various types of music.

However, in practice it's impossible to tune off of ET/matching a hertz anyway, people modify scales and tuning on their instruments to frequencies to match slightly different scales that in the end don't exactly line up with this kind of measurement. This isn't a bug, but an intended feature. More styles of measurement of scales are commonly explained when explaining these basics, including microtones, which are defined as quarter-steps, they are supposed to be half of semitones. In practice, imo, this is negligible to hear, but exists.

However- this does mean on most scales within an octave, there are twelve possible intervals called semitones/half-steps. The piano is tuned for exactly this. Two adjacent keys on a piano are a half-step apart. (This is what chromatic scale means: a scale where you play all 12 half steps within an octave.) (The definition of a diatonic scale is currently: a pattern of intervals between seven notes of most modern scales (not only including western history) and the seven modes based off these intervals.) (There are multiple non-diatonic variations of major and minor scales that come off from a mode, that is not uncommon or special.)

A mode is the pattern of half and whole steps that can begin/use as a tonic any note of a root scale, without shifting the intervals between them. If the interval is shifted (common,) then it is a variation of that mode (common names: harmonic and melodic), and no longer the same type of scale as the root "scale." (Any scale can have modes, depending on number of pitch and the pattern of pitch. A chromatic scale would technically have 12 modes, but it would be identical no matter where you start so what's the point. )

Any sound you hear in most music (including traditional music not only from western tradition) works using a chromatic scale. Not every music scale in various music is always going to specifically going to match a diatonic scale (even including accidentals), but that's true of a lot of music considered "western", not just traditional music of any given culture. All music exists using a "scale" because that's literally just what it means- if it's along an interval pattern except for an odd note out that note is an "accidental" to a scale and gets a special marking like # or b in the music to denote how it sounds outside the scale marked at the beginning of the sheet music. Music can change key/scale at any time.

Nowadays most scales use seven notes/pitches in an octave, in an pattern of intervals (whole steps and half steps) called the diatonic scale. (Skipping over why, tbh it's probably not racism, applies to a lot of music.) Two half-steps together form the interval of a whole step. The pattern of the major and minor scale are formed by a variety of half and whole steps. G major scale is a diatonic scale, G ionian mode of G major scale (tonic and root are the same note G, which is the first degree.) G minor scale is a diatonic scale, G aeolian mode (natural minor scale) of the 'parent' B major scale. (tonic is B, root is G)

Modes of a major/diatonic scale:

(from the tonic starting from which root degree degree first to seventh) Ionian - Dorian - Phrygian - Lydian - Mixolydian - Aeolian - Locrian

But to skip forward a lot, say you make modes of any of these scales in themselves and don't stick to the interval pattern of the diatonic scale (common.) Then it is no longer diatonic, and starts getting labelled based off the shifted intervals within the scale.

Modes of a minor scale (at random example) (actually i should check this later):

Melodic Minor - Dorian b2 - Lydian Augmented - Lydian Dominant - Mixolydian b6 - Locrian Natural - Altered Dominant

There's a lot of variation you can introduce through modes based off of different intervals between pitches in a scale. It makes sense to me there are a lot of unique modes used for music I'm not familiar with. However: it is simply a different claim to say that there are such commonly used quarter steps/microtones that suddenly make talking about music impossible, that's just saying words man.

You'd easily just make a scale that includes a quarter step with all the annoying extra notes that implies. I googled iranians modes very briefly.

There doesn't seem to be overwhelming shower of information on some system of intervals that specifically uses a scale with missing microtones but iranian modes do have scales that tune a few notes a microtone flatter on a normal chromatic scale- these specific notes a quarter-step flat are labelled 'koron' (which implies to me there aren't a huge amount of microtones to practically use in these scales, it's related to having a style where a note is bent down slightly instead and maybe it is a proper novel harmony I'd love to learn about) but it is true foreign traditional modes are not studied in the lens of introductory music theory, but he didn't develop his argument at all so I'm not sure what he's saying, because he's not sure what he's saying past that. (I'm filtering his argument to make it as if he would if he was more knowledgeable.)

[archivalofsins]

Let's talk about Amane's trailer~

Updated this because new information was brought to my attention and to fix some errors.

“we in turn, will forevermore mark YOU as the GUILTY one.”

They didn't capitalize the "W" in "We" so is this the middle of a sentence from her voice drama or just an error? Guess we'll know on the thirtieth, but I think it's the first thing. Amane is still the same as usual and as such Yamanaka has asked the audience to,

"Please, take care of her."

X

So, please be kind to Amane.

Futa and Amane's Possible Team Up

We know how the Milgram fandom claims to feel about picking on children from trial one right?

It'd be rather hard to take being lectured for picking on minors from people who continually harass minors. It's no wonder that Futa and Amane have gotten close. Her treatment is a direct example of Milgram's continued hypocrisy. I too would go what about you in this case.

Saying that bad things are bad, acting on the idea that something you believe is wrong has taken place, and that leading to others getting hurt- what you're saying is all that's okay when you do it...Right?

Well, it's none of Futa's business anyhow.

He said he can't afford to be worrying about other people during his second written interrogation,

Q.02 What do you think of Haruka?

Futa: I can’t afford to be worrying about other people at the moment. Anyway, he’s not a little kid.

Mu: We get on well, he’s always really kind to me.

Well, to be frank what he says is that he can't afford to worry about others currently, then states that Haruka isn't a little kid. So, he's not really worried about him, at the moment, because Haruka has shown that he is capable of taking care of himself.

I think the focus here should be on Futa specifying that, "He's not a little kid".

Amane is and she's someone that Futa has been shown to be concerning himself with during trial two.

2023/04/19 (Futa's birthday)

Futa: …! Oi, it was you. You scared me. Don't just stand there like that. Ha, what is it? Did you come to laugh at me for being weak? Brat.

Amane: No. I'm just observing; what people are thinking, who is tainted... What about you, Kajiyama Futa?

Futa: You're talking even more nonsense than before. Brat, you're guilty too, aren't you? …How can you even still stand? You probably heard it. That voice that kept blaming us. …..I ain't got the guts to do anything.

Amane: It goes without saying. Because we have something more important than incomprehensible and irrational voices. Humans can stand up if they have guidance. Kajiyama Futa, it's a coincidence, but today is your birthday, isn't it? It may be a good day to be reborn. If you can break free from the temptation of corruption around, you and change your ways-

Then guess who we have not heard about receiving help from Shidou after this interaction?

The focus and treatment suddenly became heavily focused on Mahiru. We see this in regards to Amane's birthday when Yuno is discussing giving care to Mahiru and on Kazui's when Shidou takes a short break from taking care of Mahiru.

In both cases there is no mention of continuing to give Futa treatment.

Shidou Lying about the Severity of the Prisoner's Injuries

Even though Futa needs care just as much if not more so considering the severity of his injuries. As he is stated to have,

An orbital fracture and traumatic retinal detachment. Along with bruising, lacerations (where is unspecified). Partial fracture of the thorax.

In this case, all the stated injuries involving his eye(s) and thorax could require surgery to be properly treated based on the severity of the injury.

X

X

X

In contrast Mahiru, despite all the care she's been receiving and the more visibly injured she is got off more lightly between the two. At least when taking into consideration none of her injuries require any sort of surgical treatment to heal. Despite Shidou hamming it up and saying,

"Shiina's injuries are even worse."

Looking into her injuries in comparison to Futa's easily proves this is not the case as she has,

Lacerations (Head)- Something that sounds bad but basically amounts to cuts on her head.

X

Bruising (All over her body)- It is literally just bruising. I don't know how to make this any simpler.

X

Sprain (Neck)- Does not require surgery to heal gradually heals over time with the right treatment.

X

Fracture (Ribs)- Again sounds bad but it's not.

X

Fracture (Left arm)- He says fracture, but this is literally just a broken arm. This is something that has happened to many people in the world and does not require invasive surgery to heal most of the time. Just a lot of rest.

X

"And furthermore this may be outside of my profession but her mental health is deteriorating as well."

Edit: @doctorbunny brought to my attention I missed one for Mahiru.

Compression Fracture (left anterior)

X

NOT SO FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT THE PRISONERS CAN LIE IN THEIR VOICE DRAMAS AND SHIDOU DID ABOUT THE SEVERITY OF MAHIRU'S INJURIES!

All of Mahiru's injuries in comparison to Futa's are light shit. However, Shidou knew that no one without his expertise would know that. Along with possibly rightfully deduced from the voices he does not mention hearing that there may not or were not enough people with his particular skills to correct him or call him out on his lies. That or he believed most wouldn't care to look past the surface anyhow considering what Es has deduced so far.

So, he lied highlighting Mahiru the more visibly injured of the two because he rightfully believed that the audience wouldn't realize that Futa was the more injured out of the two of them. Because it's easier for people to believe someone who looks like this,

Is more injured than someone who looks like this,

Not even touching on the fact that how injured someone believes another person is heavily dependent on external factors such as gender, ethnicity, and the communication skills of the individual in question.

So, Shidou just picked the person that needed the most consistent care, who could play the role of being injured properly, and would garner the most sympathy to latch onto in order to better his chances of being voted innocent. Then he expressly lied not only about their physical state but brought up that person's mental health as well. Something he states is not his area of expertise.

Despite people literally coming across Futa talking to himself in the fucking halls!

22/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday)

Futa: Ahh…… I’m not wrong…… I wasn’t doing anything wrong…… Shut up, why are you going on and on about something so minor…… It has nothing to do with you…… Aaahhh……

Amane: Oh, were you talking to yourself, Futa-san? Or maybe there’s something there you’re able to see?

Futa: ……! O-oh, it’s just you. It’s nothing. ……but well, on that note. Hey. Don’t you have anything happening too? Since being in here, just suddenly getting anxious. Feeling as though loads of people are all there condemning you, telling you you were wrong.

Amane: ……I’m fine. I don’t know what you’ve done or what it is you’re worried about, but I think if there’s something you believe in, you should stay true to it. It’s not something that should waver just because other people said something. I personally don’t plan on changing my own beliefs even if I’m told I’m wrong either…… ……today is your birthday, correct? I’ll pray for God to keep you under his care.

Making Futa's statement in his second written interrogation make far more sense given the fact that like Shidou said he would do from the beginning he,

"Choose between superiority or inferiority"

Prioritizing Mahiru's care for the benefit of himself and to an extent her as well while neglecting Futa's.

"I can’t afford to be worrying about other people at the moment."

He literally cannot afford to worry about other people in the prison because none of them have bothered to concern themselves with him outside of Kazui and Amane. Who once again comes up to him when he's freaking out on his birthday and is like,

"Kajiyama Futa, it's a coincidence, but today is your birthday, isn't it? It may be a good day to be reborn. If you can break free from the temptation of corruption around you and change your ways-"

Amane: Disavow the false god preaching to a choir of heathens and reject his medicinal ways and be reborn into a true deity of strength through your own will alone and my guidance. Do it- don't disappoint me like the others.

Futa: Ya, know what fuck it he's not really helping me anyhow...sure why not.

We haven't been shown or heard anything regarding Futa being checked over by Shidou or having his injuries cared for in a while now. I find it kind of odd how the only one receiving consistent treatment is Mahiru given everything here. I also wonder how Futa's friendship with Amane is going.

Amane has shown disdain towards Yuno, Shidou, and Mahiru yet...we haven't seen how she is with Futa after that interaction yet. I wonder if they'll have a timeline conversation again soon.

Honestly, I too would team up with the kid that's been consistently checking in on me. Can't even fault him.

Next the lyric.

“I disavow you, eyes corrupted.”

It seems like they’ll be continuing to update and tweak the English translation of the lyrics from what we were given in the song trailers. Though the snippet of Amane’s is much shorter than what we got previously. The MILGRAM/2nd Trial 8th EP Amane (CV: Minami Tanaka) “The Purge March” Trailer in my opinion more so highlights Amane’s message to the guard(s) than be a trailer of The Purge March proper.

So, it seems they’re really keeping the mv’s song under wraps up until release. Something that only makes me more interested in. I like the use of disavow it really fits Amane.

X

While giving her words that very smart-alecky know-it-all kid emphasis.

(Star here; I'd also say the usage of disavow works, given the likelihood of her victim being part of the cult. Whether that's an ongoing member or someone who decided fuck this is up for debate though)

The Cover Snippet

Her cover of Animal keeps up with the pattern of the Guilty prisoner’s songs so far. Unlike within their second trial songs when they are singing their cover songs, they are incredibly happy. This contrasts with the Innocent prisoners, who’ve been a bit of a mix bag when it comes to their covers but erring on the melancholy introspective side in tone. In contrast the guilty prisoners within their covers have sounded as though they’re having the time of their lives.

The staff even going as far as changing the entire tone of Parasite in Mahiru’s case to fit her mood. Something that I just thought was specific to Mahiru but upon further inspection all three of the guilty prisoners covers have had upbeat tones this trial and I’m curious as to why.

In Futa and Mahiru’s cases their main songs make their stress apparent seem, but their covers show they’re brimming with confidence and are incredibly pumped up. Futa’s cover is literally about wanting to go again, how he doesn’t want to stop, wants to escape, and unable to. Something we’ve been shown Futa pondering attempting to do from Milgram since it started and asking people for help with doing. Mahiru’s while about ending a bad relationship in contrast to Mu’s MKDR cover something dealing with a similar theme is very upbeat and seemingly ready to move forward or on from whatever is being left. Something that she’s also made clear she’s ready to do over the course of Milgram and continues to reiterate.

Having a relatively relaxed beach energy to it the most serious the song gets is when she’s asking why over and over again. Neither really touching on the tone that covers before theirs have had. It’s incredibly confusing considering it wouldn’t be surprising for the Guilty prisoners cover songs to be more downtrodden or melancholy, but it seems to be the exact opposite which I find interesting. The only cover outside of the guilty prisoners that gets remotely close to capturing this hype feeling in my opinion is Vampire but even then, Yuno sounds rather reserved.

So, like the heck are all of them so happy about; will Reversible Campaign have a similar tone? All that to say Amane’s cover of Animal sounds really good and upbeat. Her voice is so peppy.

[dailyservingofhope]

1 for Danganronpa haha

Favorite character: Fucking guess.

Least Favorite character: It’s hard to pick a least favorite. I roast Teruteru a lot because I hate him as a person, but at the same time I love Junko even though she’s evil incarnate. Let’s say least favorite in this case means a character so boring and annoying I wish they’d been omitted entirely from the game… I think the winner is Kiyotaka Ishimaru.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):KomahinaKamukura/HinataTsumiki/KomaedaTsumiki/Junko (in a ‘I know this is fucked up but I’m super interested how this trainwreck played out’ kinda way)Shuichi/Kokichi

Character I find most attractive: Komaeda and Ibuki. They are fucking gorgeous, goddamn.

Character I would marry: Komaeda is my husband.

Character I would be best friends with: Probably Ryoma. If he weren’t an itty bitty little high schooler, he’d be a 35 year old man, and I relate better to people in that phase of life. Also, I like how he talks, and I relate to the wild life he had.

A random thought: Bold of you to assume I think.

An unpopular opinion: Chihiro identifies as a man and wants to be seen and treated as a man, so he’s a man.

My Canon OTP: Not that into the canon pairings, but I think Sonia/Gundham is cute.

My Non-canon OTP: Komahina, though I only barely consider it non-canon because the writers were too cowardly to make it official. Hajime and Nagito had more relationship development than Hajime and Chiaki. They even tease at it with Komaeda asking to be friends and Hajime being surprised at him not asking for more. I’m not sure what other way we’re supposed to take this.

Most Badass Character: Izuru. He’s overpowered, but more in a 'force of nature’ way, rather than a 'self-insert in a totally self-indulgent fic’ way. It’s rather Lovecraftian, this cold, incomprehensible force, detached from wordly concerns. He’s really interesting, and I wish we had seen more of him, but I’m also glad we didn’t, because overutilizing him for plot progression would break the suspense. Like a monster in a movie, we should only ever see brief flashes of him in the dark as he pursues his unknowable objectives.

Most Epic Villain: Junko. She’s one of the most epic villains period. Her absolute charisma and analytic ability elevate her to a god among mortals. And the game sells it pretty well. I believe someone like her could amass a cult of personality and steer it towards her every whim with all the finesse of a cunning, well-spoken psychopath. Before DR3 ruined it, I used to mentally play out how she broke the people who became Ultimate Despair. Now all I can see is that dumbass brainwashing video. Junko wouldn’t have settled for that because it conveniently excuses everyone for their crimes. No, she would have been more subtle. The DR2 cast was already flirting with despair, all she had to do was give a little push here and there and let them do the rest.

Pairing I am not a fan of: Himiko/Tenko, mostly because the shippers I’ve encountered annoy the hell out of me. Apparently stalking and harassment is ok when it’s lesbians, but Souda is gross and bad for doing the same exact thing to Sonia. I’m sure there are plenty of great Himko shippers, but my experiences have left a sour taste in my mouth for this pair.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):Tsumiki. She was pure fanservice, and not just because of the clumsy 'accidents’. Her FTEs felt like some sleazy torture porn thing, pandering to fetishists who get off on hurting women, while masquerading as backstory. What a ham-fisted way to get the audience to sympathize with a character. That said, I see the potential in her character. She’s much more developed in my imagination.

Favourite Friendship: Hajime/Fuyuhiko, it just works so well with their personality types. Hajime is snarky but also tends to go with the flow, while Fuyuhiko has a strong personality but is also a bit sensitive. They complement each other. In the FTEs I liked how their friendship developed, ending with them becoming blood brothers. It was one of the more relatable pairings in 2.

Character I most identify with: Chiaki. I’m a gamer and am good at all genres.I sleep a lot and suffer chronic fatigue.We have a similar style of humor.I had hair styled like hers when I was about her age.I made alterations to a jacket I owned so it had a monster face on the hood like hers.I’m pretty calm and have never screamed at anyone. I’m a little too honest sometimes.I wish the best for all beings and will make sacrifices for the good of the world.I can deal with Komaeda when he’s back on his bullshit.

Character I wish I could be: I like being myself, there’s no one else I want to be.

[caffeineivore]

Moar Spirits

Many thanks to both @antivanruffles and @apsaraqueen for their help with logistical type stuff and plotting for this section! Y’all are the best <3

R/J, Spiritverse

Prompt: Pasta

**

Piccoli’s is the type of old-fashioned Italian restaurant that did not aspire towards either Michelin stars or a formidable Instagram following. Indeed, it is tiny and quiet by Manhattan standards, with red-checked tablecloths and dim, flickering candles. Bottles of herb-infused olive oils gleam dully against the walls, and the man behind the host’s podium is a hulking brute dressed in unrelieved black with arms like Easter hams. He gives Ember a deferential nod, though, as she walks in through the door.

“Ms. Ward. Good to see you.”

“You too, Little Tony.” Ember affords the bruiser a gentle smile. “Table for two, please.”

The ironically-monikered Little Tony gives Jareth a long, suspicious once-over and grunts something incomprehensible before leading them to a booth and setting down a pair of battered menus. Jareth pulls one of the menus towards himself, then arches an eyebrow at Ember.

“‘Little’ Tony? He’s six and a half feet tall and built like a Dwarven fortress.”

“It’s short for Antonio. His dad, also named Antonio, who answers to ‘Big Tony’, owns this place,” Ember explains. “Big Tony’s a good friend of my grandfather’s. They became poker buddies after Big Tony retired from his lifelong career and opened this restaurant.” She leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure my grandfather didn’t want to win any money that might have questionable origins, if you understand my meaning. But Big Tony’s always been very kind to me. I’m sure you’ll meet him later.”

Jareth tries his utmost to match the solemnity of her tone, but he can’t quite hold in a grin. “Is that a threat, milady wise-woman?”

“Not at all.” There’s a glint in her eyes which bespeaks her own amusement. “Big Tony can be a bit opinionated, to be sure, but he’s a lovely fellow, and he makes a spectacular red sauce from his Nonna’s recipe. I always get the spaghetti and the house Chianti.”

“I think I shall do the same.” They place their orders, and their wine comes first, in a squat bottle encased in a traditional straw basket. Jareth fills both their glasses, then raises his in a toast. “To your vision, and all the lives it will save.”

“To your bow, and all the lives it will save as well,” Ember clinks her glass against his, then takes a slow sip. “I don’t suppose that particular bow is what you’d carry, back at home, but then again, even in New York City, a man with a six-foot longbow is bound to be noticed and not in a good way.”

“It’s not what I’d carry back amidst my kin, no, but it does the job well enough. As far as home goes, that’s been here for the last twelve years.” Jareth leans back in his chair and smiles. “It’s certainly different, but I think I enjoy it, for the most part.”

“Where were you from, before?”

“I was born, quite some years ago, in the house of my father. That is within a settlement on what’s now known to be the Forest of East Derbyshire, in the East Midlands, in England.” A nostalgic smile crosses his finely-cut lips. “I’d practiced archery as a boy with one of my first mortal friends, who’d someday be known as Robin of Locksley. Eventually, however, some of us crossed the ocean during the age of exploration, but instead of settling in the places where your parents had lived, we’d gone further west. There’s land still mostly untouched by mortal hands out in what they’d consider the Pacific Northwest, in the wilds of the North Cascades, and I’ve had family there for the last few centuries.”

“And so you moved out here twelve years ago.” They’d been given a basket of fresh-baked bread with their wine, and Ember cuts a slice, dips it in greenish-gold olive oil flecked with minced basil. “It’s quite different from where you’ve lived before.”

Before Jareth can even reply, a heavy tread sounds by the table, followed by two plates of spaghetti redolent of slow-stewed tomato sauce being set down on the table by a beefy pair of hands, olive-toned, one bearing a heavy gold ring on the pinkie. The pinkie ring glitters in the candlelight as that hand travels up and gently pats the top of Ember’s head. “Ah, Ember, passerotta mia, I heard that you brought a friend with you.”

“Big Tony.” Ember accepts a hearty buss on one cheek, then the other, then gives Jareth a droll look. “Big Tony, this is Jareth Sylvane. Jareth, this is Antonio Piccoli, who goes by Big Tony. I think you’ve already met his son and heir, Little Tony.”

Big Tony has salt-and-pepper hair and a fantastically large and curly moustache, but Jareth can certainly see where his son had inherited his brawler’s build from. He wears a huge white apron over a flawlessly pressed suit, and his beady eyes look Jareth up and down in appraisal. “Where are you from, Mr. Jareth Sylvane?”

“I was born in England, but moved to Washington State at a young age, then came to New York twelve years ago.” Jareth gives Big Tony an abbreviated version of what he’d just told Ember, and meets those beady eyes squarely.

“Ah. And what do you do for work?”

“I’m an architect. A friend and I have a firm-- Sylvane and Vale.” Aeson Vale and his life-mate, Aelene, had traveled with him through the last century together, and Jareth had been grateful for his friends’ unconditional support, even in the unconventionality of journeying across oceans and continents.

“Ah.” Without invitation, Big Tony plops his considerable bulk into the booth next to Ember, and steeples his fingers. Next to him, Ember looks as tiny and dainty as a little, black-clad pixie. “I think I know of your friend. He did some good work, when we put together a fund to shine up our cathedral. A bit of a quiet fellow, but good hands. And his wife’s a beautiful lady. I sat her down and gave her a tiramisu and told her she needed to get some meat on her bones.”

Jareth stifles a chuckle at the idea of the elegant, ethereal Aelene Vale being told that she needed to get some meat on her bones by someone who looked very much like an aging mafioso, perhaps with a grandfatherly pat on the head much like he’d bestowed upon Ember, earlier. Since Big Tony was clearly alive and well enough to tell the tale, Aelene must either have been amused rather than annoyed, or perhaps it had been an outstanding tiramisu. Quite possibly the latter, considering the delicious aroma of the pasta in front of him. “I will pass along your regards when I see them next, Mr. Piccoli.”

“Mmm. I suppose it’s a good thing that you have a job. And how did you two meet?”

“At a carnival. In the midway. We’ve sort of been running into each other here and there, since. After a while it seemed more reasonable just to take down each other’s numbers.” It’s a rather simplistic version of the reality, but then again, it’s also all true.

“Mmm.” Again, that long, drawn-out monosyllable. “And what are your intentions towards my little sparrow?”

“Nothing untoward, if that’s what you mean,” Jareth answers evenly. He had expected an interrogation sooner or later, but perhaps not from a barrel-chested Italian with a moustache rivalling Teddy Roosevelt’s. “She’s a fascinating woman, and I find that I enjoy my time in her company.”

“Hmph.” Another monosyllable, slightly grumpy but not overtly hostile, and Big Tony pushes himself up to his feet. “Enjoy your pasta, you crazy kids.” He gives Ember one more affectionate head-pat, and trundles back towards the kitchen. Ember gives him a half-apologetic look even as her graceful fingers twirl noodles around the tines of her fork.

“He’s been poker buddies with my grandfather for the last five years or so.”

“I don’t begrudge someone who looks to protect you from harm, even from myself.” Jareth samples his own spaghetti. It is as delicious as advertised. Over the dim, flickering candlelight, her face is solemn and lovely. “Though, I daresay you can take care of yourself well enough.”

She sighs, and for just a moment, looks so worried that he wishes he could reach across the table and hold her close, reassure her somehow. “I feel like something is happening, and I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

He nods. Clairvoyance in any form is a gift, but never the most pleasant one, and gives its bearer a heavy cross to bear. “You knew where to be, today.”

“Perhaps, but... you were there, and me, and that lake-maiden. I’ve felt the presence and power of others that I have yet to meet. Don’t you wonder why it is that we’re all here, now? Like we’re converging upon this time and place for a reason?” Her amethyst eyes go distant, as though looking beyond this mortal plane. “Where there is great good, there will always be great evil to challenge it. Despair follows triumph like night follows day. This is the great balance of life, and I fear that the greater and stronger the light, the deeper and darker the shadow will come to encroach upon it.”

It is a gloomy thought, to be sure, and he pauses as a plate of golden-brown cannoli, dusted with confectioner’s sugar and plump with ricotta, is set down in front of them. “What’s destined will come to pass, whether for good or ill, and we simply must face it with courage and the best of intentions when the time comes.”

She looks as though she doesn’t quite like his answer, and a thin line appears between her dark brows. “It is the practice of the Ælf-kine, historically, to steer clear of the trials and tribulations of mankind unless it directly affects them, I believe. You would be within your rights, and certainly within your power, to find a new home if misfortune were to befall this city, and I can’t even fault you for it, to choose life and vanish without a trace.”

They’re sitting in silence, not quite comfortable, and Jareth reaches across the table to where her left hand lays, palm-up. It’s smooth and warm under the fingers of his right hand, and the contact of palm-to-palm feels like a promise of more. “Would you believe it if I said that there’d be no life here for me, if I left?” His kind did not succumb to disease and the frailty of age like mortal men, but untimely death could come from falling in battle or dying from a broken heart. He certainly hoped for neither, but he didn’t quite have the words to explain to her that his heart and spirit were now as deeply entrenched in this time and place as the roots of a centuries-old tree in the Earth. So he simply smiles, gives her hand a quick squeeze before reaching for the cannoli. “I like it here.”

This seems to do the trick of snapping her out of her melancholy mood, and she gives him a tentative smile. “I suppose it’s true that were evil to come to this city, it’d find a formidable opponent waiting to face it. Do your colleagues wonder why you carry a bow in your work bag?”

“Aeson carries his own bow. Aelene, his wife, wears her blades strapped to her leg underneath her skirts. As for the mortals, they don’t tend to snoop through others’ belongings. Not very polite, you know?” Outside, the sky is now as dark as the dusky, candlelit interior of the restaurant. “Maybe we should pack the rest of the cannoli to go. It grows late.”

He pays for their dinner, his signature on the credit card slip graceful and elegantly lettered, leaving a generous tip in cash on the table next to his wineglass. They share a cab, and he makes sure that it drops her off first, despite the fact that her place is a-ways farther than his. The streets of Brooklyn Heights are quiet, pale with new snowfall, when she walks up to the door of the brownstone. In the silvery moonlight, she’s darkly luminous and lovely, and he lifts a hand to gently tuck a strand of her raven hair behind her ear, stroke the soft skin of her cheek.

“Good night, Ember.”

She blinks her long, black eyelashes as though trying to come to a decision, then reaches into a pocket, extracts something small and cool that she tucks into his hand before she closes his palm around it. He opens his fingers again to see a smooth-worn bit of green stone, carved with a rune.

“Jade, bearing the rune of Algiz. It’s the Elk-- for protection, to ward off evil.” Her words are hurriedly spoken, almost as though she’s flustered. “You carry a bow. I carry... something of my own, also. Be careful.”

He can’t help but smile, both at her embarrassment and at her thoughtfulness. “Do you see something bad happening to me then?”

“Oh! No, nothing like that. I just... take care.” And maybe she realizes that she’s blushing and babbling a little, because she leans up, pecks his lips with her own for less than the span of a blink, so she doesn’t have to say anything else. And just as she’s about to pull away, he cups her face with both hands, the jade cool against her cheek, and brings his lips to hers for a longer, sweeter kiss. He holds her close for a few moments after their lips part, tucking the token of her care and her good heart into his coat pocket as his free hand cards through her silky hair.

“Sleep well, Ember. Dream good dreams, and don’t worry about me.” His words are faintly muffled against her temple, but he knows she hears them, all the same. Pressing a final kiss to the crown of her head, he steps back, smiles as she unlocks the door with keys and a whisper of magic. She gives him a little wave before she disappears behind it, and then he can make out the faint sounds of pacing, of crows cawing in greeting. Ever-so-faintly, her voice comes to his ear through the barrier of the walls, only audible because of his preternatural sense of hearing, and what he hears brings an uncontrollable grin to his face.

“Oh, stop it, you two! Don’t look at me and gloat like that, it’s not nice!”

[ephemerational]

Inertia (I)

At this point, I fear that the fever is never gonna go away, that I will spend the, likely relatively short, rest of my existence in this bed, unable to move a muscle, burning and freezing at the same time and that I am in fact currently in the process of dying.

This thought, that my life is, like that of all creatures, finite, not in some weird, vague, metaphysical sense, but actually finite in the sense that it is tonally, definitely gonna end and that there is nothing I could reasonably do to make that not be the case, had, up to this very moment, never occurred to me, and I hope that it will never occur to me again, as it scares the living shit out of me, now that I am thinking about it.

A problem presents itself: Not thinking about the thing you are currently experiencing, when there is literally nothing you are physically capable of doing aside from thinking, is really fucking difficult, if not impossible. At least for the industrial-scale-toxic-chemical-waste-dump I spent the last couple of hours turning my brain into for some retarded reason. It might have been yesterday, actually. It may very well have been a damn week ago. The ceiling of my room, the thing I am involuntarily staring at, unable to turn my head, is illuminated by the bright, natural light of noon, the same as when I lay down here, though I doubt I would remember, had there been a night or more in between. My brain is shit and so am I. A little bit of divine punishment, I would understand, but this torturous bullcrap is cruel and unusual by any metric, downright fucking unethical. I guess don’t take five Adderall when you’re blackout drunk, kids. Who would have known that was on god’s list of things you shouldn’t do if you don’t want to be banished to hell on fucking earth.

Come to think of it, those tablets must have been four years old, at the very least. Does medicine expire? Fuck, I’m pretty sure medicine expires, and not in the “we want to sell you more shit”-way, but the really fucking dangerous, in fact actually lethal way. There it is again, the fear of death. I was doing so well. Fuck. Maybe I can get up, just out of the bed, just collapse on the floor so they won’t think I’m sleeping, so they’ll call an ambulance. Get up. Get up. Get up! GET UP! JUST PLEASE GET THE FUCK UP!!

My torso jolts upright, and I suck in two lungs full of oxygen, realizing that breathing was apparently something I hadn’t been doing for a short while.

The guy on the other side of the room looks up from his laptop, obviously startled by my sudden return to the realm of the living.

“Don’t you have a job interview?”

“Don’t you care that I almost kicked the fucking bucket just now?”

“I didn’t even notice that you were in the room, dude. Don’t tell me you’re doing heroin or something”

“God no, I just tried to sober up for the interview. What time is it?”

“Like an hour too late, sorry. Actually, I’m not, this is totally your fault. You knew it was today and getting sloshed in the a.m. is a pretty stupid thing to do just in general, like even by your standards.”

“Oh, spare me the lecture, or I’ll tell dad that this isn’t working”

“Okay, okay, understood. I’ll take a walk, see you later.”

Lloyd thankfully did a passable job at reading the mood and fucked off on one of his weird three to four hour walks (like who does that?). Maybe he’s stalking someone, seems like a thing he’d be into. Off-kilter fucking guy, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

At least he’s quiet, I don’t mind having him live in my room. He’s out of the house long enough for me to do things I don’t want him in the room for and when he’s here I can bounce thoughts off him. Maybe he cleans sometimes. I’m not sure.

Doesn’t matter. Getting something to eat has priority. The Horrortrip only lasted three hours, rather than a few days but I’m starving anyway. Kind of a shame actually, would have been a cool anecdote. Mind altering drugs, am I right? Bought that shit four years ago from a friend (Max or Marc or something) to cram for finals. Should probably throw it in the trash, so I won’t get any dumb ideas in an intoxicated state, which is a lot of the time, let’s face it.

Ah Fuck. Dad’s sitting in kitchen, indulging in some delicious looking shit. Can’t let him see me, not being at the interview he set up and all. Stealthy retreat.

There’s probably some foodstuff stashed in Lo’s room. I knock. The only thing that can’t be found in my brother’s room is Lo himself. 90% of the time he’s not here and the other 10% he brings so many people that he’s impossible to spot him. For someone I have spent my entire life with he sure is absolutely fucking incomprehensible. How did he manage to grow up alright? Like an actual functional human being? Didn’t we have the same parents and shit? Fuck this! The Wardrobe opens with far less creaking than one would assume from the looks of it and below the neatly organized shirts there is a similarly neat row of wine bottles and a tower of various salty snacks, far too perfectly compact to have been built by someone who hasn’t managed to beat me in Tetris once. I rip open a bag and start stuffing ham flavored chips into my mouth. I don’t think I’m a wine guy, never really gotten into it, but it’s been a while since the last time I had some, and this seems like the kind of day to get into something, especially when it’s the only easily accessible fluid to wash down the disgusting taste of oil and fake bullshit artificial meat flavor. I take a swig. It’s sour and clings to the tongue, better than I remember wine to taste like, but objectively worse than beer or hard liquor. My hands tear another bag open as though on autopilot, peanut puffs this time.

The cycle repeats with the wine getting better the more I pour down the garbage chute that is my throat. The party food gets worse, but not bad enough to stop eating it. I won’t stop until it’s gone. That became the plan like a bag ago, not that I’m still hungry, I feel sick actually, but at this point it’s easier to just keep going. I could just eat everything, all that even slightly exists, rip it apart, dismantle it on an atomic level and wolf it down, devour it like a fucking hound. Like the biggest of dogs. The biggest possible dog. A thought pops into my head: how big would the biggest possible dog even be? Like, bigger than the biggest currently existing dog definitely. That would be incredibly unlikely: to have hit the maximum by accident. Things can only get a certain size, something about cubes and mass and shit. That’s where the research money should go, breed them until we have the largest physically possible doggo, so we could ride them, replace cars with a bunch of insanely good boys. Do they die once their size exceeds a certain point? That would make the whole pursuit kind of unethical and animal rights activist attack prone. Might not even apply to dogs, they aren’t particularly squarey after all. Maybe it’s a definitional thing: That dogs could be infinitely large, but at some point it would stop being sensible to call them dogs. If there was a galaxy sized dog shaped thing, I don’t think I’d call it a dog. It has transcended doghood and so have I. Tremble before my might for I have consumed everything. Close to everything. Four bottles and seven bags deep. It’s over. There are still ten-something wines left, but not knowing how much they cost, it seems risky to drink more. Instead lying down and trying not to throw up appears to be the responsible course of action.

“The fuck did you do?”

The ghostly pale, cloaked figure of a boy, wrapped in a blanket and not wearing anything else by the looks of it, stands over me. The tone of his voice indicating sincere curiosity.

“Almost killed myself, missed a thing and plundered the good one's apocalypse stash, all the while hiding from the authorities. They call me the chips-bandit. You?”

“Pretty much the same tbh… Anything left?”

“Wine, the rest was mercilessly devoured by the ruthless criminal I have become.”

“Argh, shit.”

“Why?”

“I’m kind of starving and the ancient one is guarding the kitchen”

“Yeah, I know. Skipping school?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

The less estranged of my two brothers scratches his neck, a nervous habit of his, that got so out of hand sometimes, that it, in combination with his general appearance, made him seem like a crack addict going through withdrawal.

“I got a commission yesterday. Some rich Swedish kid offering me 300 for a pic of his OC engaging in not-all-that-safe-for-work kinds of activities. Please don’t ask what exactly. So there really wasn’t time for compulsory education.”

“Sick dude! You might actually make it if you keep going like this”

“Don’t really have a choice. If this can’t keep me alive by graduation I’ll just fucking off myself. I’ll accept failure like a man, become a modern samurai by first becoming like fucking human yakitori.”

It baffles me that Jerald even managed to go to school on most days, being cripplingly scared of practically everything outside his room and more neurotic than should even be possible. Dude’s a fucking train wreck. If his art wasn’t able to support his continued existence, he would either have to find a normal job, or explain to dad why he can’t, both of which, he had decided two years ago are fates far worse than death could possibly be. Mom had remarked on a few occasions that he drew like his life depended on it, blissfully unaware of the fact that it genuinely kind of did.

“Could you like leave out the references when you say dark shit like that? Stylistic clash gives me the howling fantods.”

“And when was the last time you did that?”

“Act as I say, not as I do.”

The sound of the front door opening interrupts our conversation.

“Dad leaving or Lo returning?”

No one ever heard Lloyd coming or going, so that wasn’t even worth considering. Also supported my stalker theory.

“Latter’s unlikely, seeing how the sun’s still up”

“Sure, but do you really wanna risk it?”

“We could “risk it”… Or we could not be complete idiots and look out the window.”

Jerald decides to go with my cunning plan, stealing a look at, what was, judging by his response, the ancient one.

“Today my friends, we feast.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to get up and embark on any kind of arduous journey to the bountiful land of real, non-terrible food.”

“Your loss, dude.”

With that he leaves, and I once again lie alone on my brother’s carpet, covered in chips dust. Taking a good hard look at the circumstances that led me here and the backside of my eyelids. I fall asleep.