#anyway. one part to go! I will hopefully rework the very ending tomorrow

[taleweaver-ramblings]

And we're on the second-to-last part! I thought about just posting the whole ending, but I think that would be too long (it would definitely be longer than any of the other sections I've posted) and I still want to rework the very last scene of this story. In the meantime, have climax part A.

Largely unedited, etc.

The Last Immortal of Evitra, Part 8

Anatole slept poorly that night, and when morning came, he almost felt more weary than he had the night before. Still, he dragged himself out from his bed, dressed, and was ready in time to tell Dieudonné and Aimée that he’d walk with them to the edge of his property, perhaps even see them to the village and onto the coach. It was, after all, proper for a host to see his guests off, even if Anatole hadn’t gone quite this far in doing so for many years even before the curse.

They were halfway down the main path to the manor gates when Anatole felt a ripple in his web of enchantments. Someone was on his property — had just used magic on his property. The person — no, people; he could tell now that there were four or so — the people were keeping quiet, so he hadn’t heard them. Now that he thought about it, he’d sensed them stepping onto his manor grounds, but he’d taken them for animals, nothing more. But animals could neither weave nor throw enchantments.

Dieudonné and Aimée stopped beside him, and Dieudonné tugged on Anatole’s cloak. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone else is here.” Should he send the children back to the house? Anatole didn’t know who this was, but Dieudonné had only ever made reference to one local magic-user . . .

The group rounded the bend in the path and came in sight before Anatole could make up his mind. The way Dieudonné stiffened, tensing for either a fight or a blow, and the way Aimée let out a squeak and ducked behind Anatole told him all he needed to know about who these people were.

The man at the front of the group wore the blue and gold coat and robes of a holy man, the cuffs and collar decorated with the triple arrowheads indicating his rank — starsteel arrowheads, Anatole noticed in an instant. Yet the man under those robes would not have looked out of place in armor upon a charging horse. He was young still, not yet thirty, and broad-shouldered, with golden hair swept back from a strong, hard face. He walked with a steady, soldierly stride, and every so often he reached for magic and then let it go, as if it were a weapon he wanted to keep ever near-to-hand.

That would be Sacre-Berger Gauvain, then. And the three others with him . . . all wore coats the same blue as Gauvain’s robes, but their clothes underneath were of ordinary style. Lay volunteers of some kind, then. None of them were magicians, so far as Anatole could tell — or, if they were, they weren’t trying to use any magic, nor were they even drawing on it to have it ready as Gauvain was.

Gauvain and his men stopped as they saw Anatole waiting for them. Anatole didn’t give them a chance to speak. “You are trespassing on my land, priest. If you are here with concern for my soul, I assure you its fate is already seen to.”

“I have no doubt that your soul is seen to, Seigneur Corentin.” Even with those few words from Gauvain’s mouth, Anatole found he could tell why people listened to the man so readily. His voice was rich and authoritative, surprisingly so for one so young. Gauvain went on, “I am here because reports say you have been harboring thieves, and this is the first day on which the path has been clear enough for me to come find them.”

“Thieves?” Anatole echoed, raising an eyebrow and filling his voice with disbelief. “The only people I have seen or sensed all winter are these two children, and they have stolen nothing from me.”

“The boy has stolen from others, though.” Gauvain’s lip curled. “I am here to take them back that they may face due punishment.”

“I see.” Anatole turned to look at Dieudonné. “Did you steal from others before coming to my home?”

Dieudonné didn’t speak, nor would he meet Anatole’s eyes. His gaze flickered from Aimée to the path behind them to the bushes, as if trying to figure out where and how to run and if he could get himself and his sister both away before they were caught.

Gauvain snorted. “Of course, the boy denies it. But he has stolen food from many in the village. Half the homes, he’s taken something from.”

Anatole faced Gauvain once more. In his most forbidding growl, he asked, “And how many have gone hungry as a result? How many have starved over the winter due to what this boy took?”

“That is not the point —” Gauvain began stiffly.

“Then I take it that the answer is none.” With a flick of Anatole’s wrist, he summoned from his safe a small bag of coins, which he tossed at Gauvain’s feet. “That contains the equivalent of three months’ wages for nearly any man in the village. Give to each person who had something stolen twice the worth of what he or she lost. Whatever is left, I recommend you spend on seeing that those under your care are properly fed, as you seem to have so little that children must resort to stealing in order to avoid starvation.”

Gauvain bent and lifted the bag, bouncing it a little to judge its weight. “This is not the first trouble the boy has gotten into. Gold will not save his soul, Seigneur Corentin.”

“Am I not still lord of Blackrose Manor?” Anatole shot back, drawing himself up to his full height. “Theft is a civil crime, not a religious one, and so judgement for it falls under my purview, not yours. I have judged, and I have seen the penalty paid. Your work of bringing the crime to my attention is done. Now, begone.”

The men behind Gauvain murmured among themselves. Gauvain’s gaze hardened, but he tucked the money in an inside pocket all the same. “Very well. I will go, and I will take these children back to the orphanage when I go.” He made a sharp gesture towards Dieudonné and Aimée. “Come. You have run wild long enough.”

Anatole felt the twist of enchantment in Gauvain’s voice at the same moment as he saw both Dieudonné and Aimée take an involuntary step forward. Putting out his hands to stop them, he growled, “You are leaving. I did not say you would take them with you.”

“They are orphans placed under my care,” Gauvain replied, meeting Anatole’s eyes undaunted. “I am their guardian; they return with me.”

Anatole didn’t reply, but looked down at Dieudonné. “Do you wish to go with him?”

Dieudonné shook his head, staring at Gauvain with the same look he’d given Anatole all those months ago, when he thought Anatole a demon rather than just a monster. On Anatole’s other side, Aimée clutched at his cloak.

“I thought not.” Anatole faced Gauvain once more. “It seems that they do not choose to go with you, and so, as Lord of Blackrose Manor, I declare your guardianship forfeit. And if I were you, priest, I would think hard on why these children would cling to a monster rather than a man of God.”

One of the other men muttered, “Like clings to like.” A look from Gauvain silenced him, but the expressions of the rest of Gauvain’s company suggested the speaker hadn’t been the only one thinking such thoughts.

Gauvain stepped towards Anatole. “And what will become of these children if they are not under my care, Seigneur? They need someone looking after them.”

“That is none of your concern,” Anatole growled. The threads of the manor’s enchantments pulsed and quivered in response to some subconscious impulse. It had been a long time since Anatole troubled himself with combat magic, but just now he had to resist the urge to dust off some old tricks.

“But should it be yours?” Gauvain asked, his voice now softer — a priest concerned for a member of his flock, not an official exercising his right and duty. “You are Lord of Blackrose Manor, Seigneur. You have many cares already. Surely the fate of two children is not something you should trouble yourself with.”

“It is not your place, priest, to tell me what I should and should not trouble myself with.” Anatole advanced now, closing the distance between himself and Gauvain so he could loom properly. “If I listened when people told me what I should and should not care about, I would not have spent the last four hundred years alone.”

“Of course, Seigneur,” Gauvain replied placatingly. He took a step back, pushing his followers with him, and held up his hands with a slight smile. “Of course, I would not tell you what to do. But if you value your peace and privacy so, then why should these children be any concern of yours? I am simply trying to take them off your hands so you need be disturbed no longer.”

“They are my concern. I have chosen so.” The threads of enchantment all around Anatole vibrated in response to those words, almost eager to be called upon. “There are, in fact, a great many things that are my concern that I have neglected, and which I plan to remedy soon. And if you do not wish charging you with trespassing to be first on that list, then remove yourself from my property immediately, or I will remove you myself.”

“There is no need to threaten, Seigneur.” Gauvain spoke mildly, his voice soft and a just a little apologetic. It was a voice that, if you didn’t know what to listen for, could make someone forget every offense the speaker had given to prompt such a threat. “My people and I will go. Again, I only sought to aid you and see that what must be done is so.”

Anatole made no reply, just crossed his arms and waited for Gauvain to leave. After a moment, Gauvain turned, gesturing for his men to go on ahead. He started to follow, but Anatole caught the backwards flick of his hand and wrist, the burst of enchantment, the release of three silver-grey projectiles flying almost too fast to see — and he saw in a moment where that enchantment’s path led.

There was no time for a counterattack. Anatole spun and launched himself ahead of the projectiles. He grabbed Dieudonné and Aimée, ignoring Aimée’s panicked scream. Then, dropping to his knees, he pulled them to himself and bent over them so the projectiles’ shortest path could only lead to one target.

The starsteel, bolstered by Gauvain’s well-practiced magic, cut through Anatole’s layered shields and protections as if they weren’t even there. They struck his back, forcing a growl of pain from his lungs — but where they stuck, they stayed.

And then the grounds came to raging life as layer upon layer of defensive enchantments responded to their maker’s pain.

Anatole sensed, rather than saw, the bushes double in size, lashing out with thorny branches that grabbed at Gauvain and his men. But he heard the screams and the snap of twigs as those branches caught two of the men and dragged them to the sides of the path. By the time Anatole stood and turned, both of those men were half-buried in the bushes, held fast by twining stems that cut deep any time either tried to move. The third man was running for his life down the path, but the stones rose to trip him, and the ground before him softened to receive him — then hardened again so he remained stuck fast.

Gauvain did not try to run, but he had drawn a short starsteel blade from somewhere within his robes, and he’d enchanted the sleeve of his offhand to be so stiff that it functioned as a shield. He held himself ready as he locked eyes with Anatole.

Anatole snarled and surged forward towards Gauvain. Once, twice, thrice, Gauvain swung his blade, forcing Anatole to dodge back. Thrice Anatole slashed at Gauvain with claws that had never been longer than they were now. One swipe tore the arrowheads from Gauvain’s other cuff; the others met a shield almost as sturdy as Anatole’s own.

The ground shifted beneath them with every step: ever soft and unsteady under Gauvain, but firm wherever Anatole placed his feet. That Gauvain could keep his balance under such conditions was a mark of his skill, and Anatole might have been impressed had it been any other man before him.

Gauvain backed away a step and raised his sword. Above, the sky darkened, and lighting shot down, hit the tip of Gauvain’s blade, and reflected towards Anatole. But Anatole knew that trick of old. He raised a hand wrapped in swift spellworks, caught the energy, and turned it back on Gauvain, forcing the priest to dance back along the path.

Gauvain let out a wordless howl of rage and swung his blade again. This time, Anatole caught it, though the edge cut through his enchantments and into his palm. He yanked, simultaneously creating a burst of flame before Gauvain’s face.

The sword jerked free as Gauvain lost his grip and batted at the flames to disperse them. With a swift motion, magic thrumming in his ears and his blood, Anatole snapped the blade over his knee. Then he lunged forward again, catching Gauvain by the throat and chest and forcing him back against the hedge. “Dieudonné and Aimée are mine. This manor is mine. The village is mine. This land is mine. And I have allowed you and your kind to abuse and twist them long enough.”

Gauvain choked out something that might have been words, though Anatole barely heard them. But he felt when Gauvain reached for magic once again, for a final desperate attack or defense.

Anatole didn’t give him a chance. He drew on a particular spellwork and wrapped it round Gauvain, blocking off his ability to touch any kind of magic. Panic flashed in Gauvain’s face; then his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Anatole waited until the bush curled its branches round the senseless Gauvain, holding him in place, before he let go and took a staggering step back. Pain surged in his back and hand where he’d been cut, and his head spun. It had been a long time since he’d done real combat — but it had been necessary today.

He sank to his knees, uncertain if his legs would hold him up. From behind, he could hear running footsteps and two voices — Dieudonné, asking if he was hurt, if he’d be all right; Aimée, simply calling out “Monsieur Monster!” in a tone as fearful as if she thought he was dying.

He held up a hand, intending to warn her off — he didn’t know how much blood was on him. But she threw herself at him anyway, burying her face in his shirt and sobbing. With a sigh, Anatole wrapped his uninjured arm around her. His head swayed, and he bent over her, shutting his eyes. Adrenaline must be wearing off faster than he’d expected. But if he could just rest a minute or two here, then return to the house and his medical supplies . . .

He felt something shift in the enchantments around him. Then, as if from a long way off, he heard Dieudonné shout in alarm. More enemies? But Anatole’s limbs wouldn’t cooperate; they’d all gone to pins and needles all at once. He tried to open his eyes, but his vision had all gone to black — except a moment later, it blazed white.

The sensations all faded a moment later, and he straightened, feeling even more lightheaded than he had a moment ago. As he did, he heard Aimée’s shriek of alarm. She pulled back from him, staring with wide, fearful eyes. “Monsieur Monster?”

What was wrong? Anatole reached out to her, but the sight of his hand stopped him. Rather than shadows and shining claws, he saw flesh and olive-tanned skin, lighter than it had once been but distinctively his.

Could it be?

He had to cough a few times to clear his throat before he could speak. When he did, his voice came out familiar and unfamiliar at once — it was his own voice, but without the growl that had underlaid it for the last four centuries. “It’s me. It’s only me. I am a monster no more, it seems.” He looked from Aimée over to Dieudonné, who stood a few steps away, mouth gaping. “Are either of you hurt?”

Dieudonné shook his head. “We’re fine. Is it really you, Seigneur?”

“So it seems — more so than in a very long time.” Anatole turned back to Aimée. With slow movements, he reached out and took one of her hands as he often had in the night. “Do you know me now?”

She hesitated, then nodded and darted back in to cling to him again. Not what he’d expected, but he’d not stop her. This hadn’t been a good morning for any of them, and the last thing she needed was cause for more night terrors.

With a groan, Anatole tested first his back, then his legs and found that both still worked. Aimée still clung to him, so he adjusted his grip to carry her as he stood. Then he surveyed the four men held captive along the path. They were secure for now, but he disliked leaving them in the open like this.

He noticed Dieudonné’s gaze now lingering on Gauvain’s still form. Guessing the boy’s thoughts, he said, “He’s not dead. Just unconscious. I temporarily blocked his connection to magic. In the heat of battle, it’s as great a shock to the body as losing a limb, but he will recover.” It might be that recovery would come just in time for him to stand trial for his actions, but that would be no great loss to anyone.”

Yet it would be a loss if he escaped. That was the matter at hand. With half a thought, Anatole commanded the house-magics and cleared out one of the more secure cellars. Another thought sent all four captives off into the now-empty cellar and locked and barred the door.

Another day, Anatole might have lingered to revel in how readily the enchantments of the manor responded to his command. But there were other matters to attend to today. So, he turned and started slowly towards the house. “I think that you had best delay your departure for a day at least. We all need to recover, and there are things we must think on.”

Inklings Challenge 2023: The Last Immortal of Evitra

'Tis the deadline day for the Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge), and I have not finished my story, but today is also Ren Faire day, and I will therefore not be able to finish today . . . but it's a long story that I'll have to post in multiple parts anyway, so have part one now, and I'll post the rest over the next week.

Also, in classic Taleweaver fashion, this is a fairy tale retelling. Which fairy tale should be fairly obvious. It is not, however, a romance.

Unedited; please be nice about typos.

~~~~~

The Last Immortal of Evitra, Part 1

Anatole Bérenger Judicaël Télesphore Corentin, lord of Blackrose Manor, last immortal of Evitra, woke to the sound of a child crying.

He let out a quiet growl as he reoriented himself to his surroundings. He’d dozed off in his study, it seemed. The last he remembered, the sun had been just at the top edge of the tall windows. Now it was gone, and the whole room was drenched in black shadows — though, of course, shadows had hidden nothing from him for the last four hundred years.

Anatole stirred and stretched, tracing the sound down the threads of magic that carried it. The child wasn’t within the manor house itself, thankfully, but it was concerningly close. Behind the stables, if Anatole read the magic aright. What it was doing there, he could guess, and the thought made him growl again. It had been a long, long time since small boys dared their friends to creep up to his home and spend ten minutes within his gates. If the practice was starting up again . . . well. It might require him to go down to the town again for the first time in decades.

Unless, of course, he could put a stop to it now. Anatole took his cloak from its hook by the door and swept it around his shoulders. Then he stalked from his study, through the halls to a side door, and out into the night.

By the time he found the child, it had stopped crying and moved inside the stables. There were no horses there anymore, nor even any hay — Anatole had no need for such things these days. But in the back, in a corner of the very last stall, there was a small boy, curled up and shivering with his eyes shut and hands balled into the ragged sleeves of his much-mended shirt.

Anatole stepped into the stall, making sure to leave space in the doorway, and growled again, low and menacing. “Boy. Leave my home or face the consequences.”

The boy startled, and his eyes flew open. Anatole knew well what the boy saw. His cursed form was a work of art, he had to admit — curving horns and red eyes and sharp fangs and claws all sharp and distinct and gleaming even without light, and the rest of him a hulking beast of shadows with just enough substance to resolve into one’s worst nightmares. It was a form to make the bravest of men turn and run.

 But rather than fleeing, the boy pressed himself more firmly into his corner. “No. I’m not scared of you, demon.” His voice strongly suggested otherwise. “Oúte o thánatos, oúte i zoí, oúte ángeloi, oúte igemoníes, oúte oi dynámas —”

“Oúte oi dynámeis,” Anatole snapped. “If you’re going to threaten demons with the Holy Writ, boy, you’d better say it correctly. Fortunately for you, I am not a demon. But I am a monster.” He bared his teeth further and growled again. “Now, begone. Go home.”

“Don’t have a home.” The boy’s hands scrabbled on the floor as if searching for a crack or crevice to hold onto. “You’ve got the whole house and all the land. You can spare a corner for the night.”

“If you have no home, then get yourself to the orphanage. I understand that’s what it’s there for.” Anatole pointed out the door. “Go.”

“Won’t.” The boy, finding no handholds, crossed his arms and shut his eyes. “Go away, monster. You’re probably a bad dream anyway.”

How dare the boy defy him! How dare he!

Anatole felt the enchantments woven into every inch of the estate swell in response to his wrath. They didn’t anticipate his need the way they once would have — the curse ensured that — but they would answer swift enough if he called upon them. He could have this boy ejected and back on the road in moments, and in the morning he could add another layer of spellwork to more effectively discourage trespassers.

But it was full night, the town was well over a mile away, and there were wolves in these woods. Sending the boy out on his own would be a shade too close to outright murder for Anatole’s taste. So, with a sigh, he reached down, grabbed the boy, and slung him over his shoulder. Then he turned and trudged back towards the main house.

The boy thrashed and struggled to get free. “Let me go! Put me down, monster!”

“No.” Anatole shoved open the side door, stepped through, and then paused to lock it behind them. “If you’re spending the night on my estate, you’ll do it where I can keep an eye on you.”

The boy continued to wriggle and protest as Anatole made his way swiftly to one of the smaller guest chambers. There, with much relief, he dropped the boy onto the couch. No dust rose — cleaning spells were child’s play, and Anatole had spent his first week of isolation laying multiple in every room. But somehow, the cushions still managed to let off an air of long disuse.

Anatole took a step back. “You’ll sleep here and then leave in the morning.” Now that he’d brought the boy inside, the long-practiced rules of hospitality gripped him like an instinct. “Are you hungry?”

The boy eyed him with suspicion, but gave a tight little nod. Anatole shut his eyes, probing his awareness of the house to check what he had to offer. Apples, cold turkey left from his dinner, cheese — that would do. A few commands and a plate appeared on the low table beside the couch, along with a sturdy mug of water. Anatole opened his eyes again. “Eat.”

The boy poked at the apple suspiciously — rude of him, as Anatole had even gone to the trouble of having it sliced. “Is this fairy food?”

“I have no interest in trapping you in my home.” Anatole resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I summoned it by magic, but the food is real.”

The boy picked up an apple slice, tasted it, and seemed to approve. “Are you planning to eat me?”

“There’s not enough meat on your bones to be worth the effort.” Anatole turned. “Eat, sleep, and be gone in the morning. I will come to this room at ten o’clock, and if you are not gone, I will remove you myself — and should you return, I may rethink eating you.” He waited to hear no further protests, but rather stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As an afterthought, he locked it, laying a small spell so it would unlock again only after the boy had slept, and sent a command through the estate to close and lock all other doors and to only let them open at his own touch, or if they were necessary to let the boy out in the morning. With that, he made his way to his own bed and fell into a light slumber.

At half-past seven the next morning, he roused as he sensed the boy scurrying out the same side door they’d entered through the night before. Anatole remained awake until he felt the boy vanish off the edge of the estate. Then, satisfied, he drifted back into deeper sleep. He had done his duty; no one could argue that. And now the boy was gone and, with any luck, the threat of being eaten would be enough to keep others away for another hundred years or so.

~~~

Three days passed peacefully, and the fourth dawned cold, grey, and threatening either rain or snow. Anatole had decided some centuries ago that, on such days, resisting the urge to hibernate like the bear he somewhat resembled was far more trouble than it was worth. So, he spent most of the day in the library, alternately napping and listening as a speaker-spell read a book to him, stirring only when hunger made it necessary to summon a meal.

He was just waking from one of these naps when he felt a clumsy tug on the estate’s magic. Immediately, he shook himself, reaching out to see who or what dared try to use his power.

Once again, there was a child at the other end of the disturbance. The same one as before, if Anatole wasn’t mistaken. And there was another with him, smaller than he. Anatole growled, extracting himself from his blankets. Apparently, he’d been too kind to the boy last time. He would not make the same mistake again.

Outside, the sky had resolved into a storm of wind and driving rain and occasional flashes of lightning. Anatole trudged onward all the same, following the periodic tugs in his web of enchantment. A curse and a pox on the boy for choosing this day of all days to come back! And he was further from the main house this time, all the way out in the gamekeeper’s cottage — even longer disused than the rest of the estate’s outbuildings.

The door was locked, but it opened at his touch. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he swept inside, drawing himself up to his full height so he nearly touched the ceiling. “I told you not to return.”

The boy — indeed the same one as last time — looked up with wide eyes. He scrambled to his feet, darting in front of the other child. “What d’you care? You’ve got all this space and no one to live in it. We’re not hurting anything. I didn’t come anywhere near your house this time.”

“I care very much when someone trespasses on my property and tries to use my power for his own.” Anatole peered past the boy at the second child: a little girl, perhaps half the boy’s age, yellow-haired and thin-cheeked. “And you should know better than to wander into a monster’s den.”

“There’s monsters everywhere. You aren’t special.” The boy glanced behind him, and his shoulders sagged a little. “One night, Seigneur, please. Then we’ll leave. I promise. We’ll leave and we won’t come back.”

Anatole considered — but the rain and wind outside left him no choice. “I will hold you to that promise.” He turned. “Come.”

The two followed, straggling along behind him, the boy carrying a small bundle on his shoulder and helping the girl along with his free hand. However, after ten minutes, in which Anatole had to stop and wait five separate times for the children to catch up, he turned and simply scooped up both, ignoring their panicked protests. They were light as feathers, both of them — lighter than they ought to be, but perhaps that was merely the greater strength of his current form. Or perhaps he was misremembering. It had been many, many centuries since he’d had reason to carry a child.

He didn’t set the two back down until he’d reached the small guest room where he’d let the boy stay last time. There, he deposited both children onto the couch and once again summoned a platter of food: two bowls of the thick rabbit stew he’d started earlier that day for his dinner, cold flatbread rounds left from lunch, soft cheese, and juicy pears. This time, he very deliberately chose to materialize it on the table by the fireplace. “The food will stay warm until you eat it, at which point you will take care not to make a mess. You will remain in this room, the adjoining one, or the connected bathing chamber until after dawn tomorrow, and you will leave no later than ten o’clock. At no point will you disturb me. Is this understood?”

The girl just stared, but the boy nodded. “I understand. We’ll do as you say.”

“Good.” Anatole stalked from the room — but, to his surprise, the boy followed him out. “What did I say to you a moment ago?”

“I need to ask you something, sir.” The boy held his head up, dropping his tone. “If you eat one of us, make it me. Not Aimée. I’m the one who brought her here. And can you make sure she goes somewhere aside from the orphanage when you send her away?”

Anatole cast a cold glance at the boy. “The two of you together wouldn’t make as much meat as the rabbit I put in tonight’s stew. You may attend to the girl’s fate yourself when you both leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, Seigneur.” There was a bitter note in the boy’s voice, no doubt at the fact that he had to express gratitude for not being eaten. “We’ll not disturb you.”

He disappeared back into the room, and Anatole strode hastily away, working a belated drying-spell to pull the water from his cloak, clothes, and form. One night more. Then these two would be out of his hair and, with any luck, far, far away.

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 55: Paths Collide

In class the next day, Ren was watching the clock. As each second passed, she grew more and more nervous about the meeting Makoto summoned her for. What kind of situation was waiting for her? Was everything going to crumble at her feet? Would the Phantom Thieves be outed? Nothing was out of the question. After all, Makoto had figured them out; anything was possible.

When the time for lunch came, Ren got up immediately. Ann turned around and asked “Hey, wanna eat lunch together?” with her enthusiasm draining with each word as she took notice of her friend’s demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Ren said. “Makoto asked to meet with me. Well, ‘asked’ is a very generous way of putting it.”

“I see…” Ann said. “Wait, you call her by her first name? Why?”

“Oh…” Ren said, realizing it herself. “I’m not entirely sure. But I guess that I’ve been getting so used to it with you guys, that it’s kind of rubbed off on me.”

“Huh” Ann said

“Well, come what may, I gotta do this” Ren said, trying to psych herself up.

“Good luck,” Ann said. Ren nodded. She left the classroom. With every step, Ren’s heart pounded. Despite her fear, she kept marching forward.

Once she entered the student council room, she came face to face with Makoto. Makoto’s face looked deathly serious. Nervous as she was, Ren let out a “Hey…”

Makoto continued to look at her with that icy glare. Eventually though, that broke. Her face turned from anger to sorrow in a near instant, as she sat down. “Oooooooooohhhhhhhh” she moaned.

Ren was surprised. “Um, What happened?” she asked, as she sat across from her.

Makoto put her head in her hands for a few seconds. She then sighed, lightly pounded her fists on the table, and then looked up at Ren. “We have a problem.” After Makoto explained everything, she finished by saying “so, we need a new strategy, and fast.”

Ren was stunned. “Well, that’s certainly a lot.”

“You don’t have anything that would help, do you?” Makoto asked.

“Well, we met some of the gang members who were tasking students to move the drugs,” Ren said. “I could describe them to you, but…”

Makoto sighed. “That’d be helpful if we didn’t have to worry about Kisa. If this mob leader hears that the police are sniffing out his henchmen, he’ll probably release the photo before anything can happen.”

“Yeah…” Ren relented. She focused herself. “So, we’re going to find an underground method of figuring this guy out.” Makoto nodded. “Well, I’ll tell you this, you came to the right people.”

“Don’t I know it…” Makoto said, still worried.

“Hey” Ren said. “We’re going to do this. I promise.”

Makoto was assured by this, nodded, and smiled for the first time today. “Yeah Thanks.” Ren smiled back, got up, and left the room. She got out her phone and began to text.

Ren: We have a problem.

Ann: I hope it’s not too serious.

Ren: It’s not worst-case scenario, but it’s not great.

Yusuke: Well, I guess that’s some kind of silver lining.

Ren: We should meet up to discuss this in full.

Ren: Maybe somewhere a little more private this time.

Jose: Why do you figure that?

Ren: Well, if these gangsters hear we’re after them, then it’ll be game-set-match.

Jose: Oh, so we won’t have the element of surprise.

Jose: Gotcha.

Sumire: So, where should we go?

Ryuji: How about a karaoke bar?

Yusuke: That’s not bad actually.

Jose: Yeah, even if there are gangsters there, they won’t be about to hear us over the music they’re singing.

Ann: Gangsters go to karaoke?

Ryuji: I think so.

Ann: I don’t know what kind of songs they would sing.

Ryuji: It’s probably not what you’d expect.

Ryuji: Probably stuff like “All Day Princess” or that Fool song.

Ann: Fool song?

Ryuji: Yeah, I can’t remember the name, but it’s become kind of popular on the internet.

Ann: Oh, I know what song you mean now. Yeah.

Ren: Getting back on topic, that does sound like a good plan.

Ren: Does anyone have any preferences, or just whatever’s close by?

Yusuke: I think we should meet at the usual spot and decide then.

Sumire: Good thinking, Yusuke-senpai.

Ryuji: Works for me.

Ann: Same.

Jose: Same.

Ren: Well then, until this afternoon.

Ren put her phone away, and then proceeded to eat lunch in the remainder of time before classes started up again.

After school, the Phantom Thieves met up, looked up a karaoke bar, and headed over. Once inside, Ren explained the situation. “Huh…” Ann said, stunned and saddened by what happened.

“So, we’re back to square one,” Yusuke noted.

They could hear someone doing karaoke in the next room over. “Man, that guy sucks,”Ryuji said.

“Um, I agree, but we should be more focused,” Sumire said.

“It IS a bit loud though,” Jose said.

“Yeah,” Sumire agreed.

“So, the question is now, how do we figure out this guy’s name without ringing any alarm bells?” Ren asked.

“Well, maybe we should ask somebody who knows their name already?” Ann said, half sure of herself.

“And who would that be?” Ryuji retorted.

Sumire got an idea. “Wait! Do you think that reporter would know?”

“Reporter?” Yusuke askd.

“Yeah,” Sumire responded. “When we were investigating Madarame at the exhibit, we saw this reporter getting kicked out. We followed up with her.”

“She seemed to have a keen eye on whatever information is floating around,” Ren added. “She knew about the abuse allegations toward Madarame.”

“Oh, but, don’t we need information to talk to her?” Sumire said.

“A hurdle already?” Ryuji moaned.

“I thought as a former track star, a hurdle would be nothing,” Morgana remarked.

“You little…” Ryuji grumbled.

Morgana chuckled to himself. Ren then smiled deviously. “Oh no, I know that smile,” Morgana said. “You have an idea that’s potentially dangerous.”

“Well, kind of,” Ren said. “I’m just thinking, between a second major confession, and the interview recently, the Phantom Thieves have a lot of sway.”

“Where are you going with this?” Ann asked.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to send us up the river!” Morgana said, panicked.

“No no,” Ren said. “We’re a team. Besides, I’m probably going to need you all if this keeps going. But we have a good amount of information we can reveal without playing our full hand. That might be worth a little something.”

“I’d say it's at least worth an attempt, '' Yusuke reasoned. “We can’t afford to waste time after all. At most, we have until the semester ends.”

“And we don’t know if or when Eris will induct another person into her ranks,” Jose added.

“Yeah. Let’s go for it” Ann said.

“Are you sure?” Ren asked, smiling.

Before Ann could answer, Sumire jumped in and said “Well, I know if I was in danger, I’d want to be helped as soon as possible.”

Ren was impressed. “Alright, good enough for me.” She sifted through her things to pluck out the business card of Ichiko Ohya. She sent her a message.

A few minutes later, Ren received a reply. “What does it say?” Sumire asked.

“She’s agreed to meet up” Ren said, honestly stunned this would work.

“Great!” Ann cheered.

“So, when?” Morgana asked.

“She said tomorrow at this place called ‘Crossroads’ in Shinjuku” Ren answered.

“Shinjuku, huh,” Ryuji said.

“Well, I can’t make it,”Sumire said. “I promised I’d be at practice, and that usually wears me out after.”

“Didn’t your coach say it was OK to miss some?” Ann asked.

“Yeah, but I promised some friends…” Sumire explained.

“Oh. Well, have fun then” Ann said.

Ren smiled. “I think the less people coming with the better.”

“Well, you should go,” Yusuke said. “You’re the one that reached out after all.”

“Makes sense,” Jose said.

“Of course,” Ren said. “But I still want someone to come with me.”

“I’ll go,” Ryuji said.

“Are you sure?” Ren asked.

“Yeah” Ryuji said. “I still feel guilty about getting us into this mess anyways…”

Ren smiled. “Hey.” Ryuji looked up. “It’s OK. Despite the less than ideal circumstances, we have found our next big target. So in a way, we should thank you.”

“Does this mean you’ll pay me back for the ramen?” Ryuji asked, hopefully.

“Nope,” Ren answered directly.

“Figures” Ryuji said, hopes crushed. Everyone had a good little chuckle.

The buzzer came up, stating their time was up. “Do you wish to stay and actually do some karaoke?” Yusuke asked.

“It IS a nice way to blow off some steam,” Sumire said.

“I’m alright for it,” Ren said. “One hour of just us? No business?” Everyone agreed to it. Ren made an extension to their time, and they spent the next hour karaoking and having a good time as friends and teammates. After which, they left, preparing for the next step of the mission.

After school the next day, Ren went home to change. After all, despite recent improvements, “Shinjuku on a Saturday night” still had a certain connotation to it. Ren figured it’d be better not to show up in school clothes. She took one of her part time jobs for the rest of the afternoon.

Evening came. She clocked out of work and headed for the station. She was there first, so decided to wait for Ryuji. “Yo!” he called. Ren looked as he ran over. “Sup?”

“You’re really wearing your school uniform?” Morgana said.

“What? I didn’t have time to change” Ryuji said. “My mom had me doin’ some errands. Besides, it’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Ren said. “For your sake.” She started heading for the train.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Ryuji said, catching up to her. “We’re getting some good information tonight. I can feel it.”

Ren smiled. “With optimism like that, I can’t stay mad at you.”

“But you won’t pay me back…” Ryuji said softly.

“You deserve it” Ren retorted playfully. They got in and headed to Shinjuku.

When they arrived, the two took a good look around. “Um, do you wanna ask for directions?” Ryuji asked.

Ren shook her head. “I don’t think two kids asking about a bar is a good look.”

“Right,” Ryuji said. They looked at the area again. “Well, we should start looking then.” The two of them began their trek into the heart of Shinjuku. They saw a variety of things. Shady people selling stuff, hosts and hostesses trying to attract business, and people being drunk, angry, or both littering the streets. “Woah,” Ryuji remarked.

“Halt!” said a commanding voice. A police officer stopped the two of them.

“Oh crap” Ryuji worried.

“What are you two doing here?” the officer asked.

Ren calmly smiled and said “We’re just some college students looking for a good time.”

“College students, eh?” the officer said. He believed it for almost a second. “Wait, those pants…”

“Ryuji…” Morgana moaned.

“Those are part of the uniform for Shujin, aren’t they?” the officer asked.

“Uh, nope, they’re designer pants” Ryuji said, trying to lie.

“No no, I’ve seen them on the news” the officer said. “You’re just some high school punks, ain’t ya?”

“Crap!” Morgana muttered.

Ren shot a glance at Ryuji. “Don’t worry, I have a way out of this” he whispered. “On the count of three, we use a bit of my training. One...two...three!” Ryuji bolted off. A split second later, Ren ran off as well, smiling.

“HEY YOU KIDS! GET BACK HERE!” the cop shouted. He began giving chase. Despite the cop’s protests, Ryuji and Ren went sprinting around Shinjuku, hoping to shake off the officer. The two kids ran around a corner. As they kept dashing, someone pulled the both of them into an alleyway, taking them by surprise. The officer continued running to where he thought they went. “Where’d they go?” he said, before he continued running.

Once the cop was away, Ryuji shouted “HOLYSHITWHATWASTHAT?!”

“Calm down!” said the person who dragged them in. The two kids looked at them to see a woman dressed in some peculiar clothes.

“I’m sorry about him,” Ren said. “Thank you.”

Ryuji was still baffled, but felt it would be rude to not also thank this mysterious woman. “Thank you! … S-sorry…”

The woman giggled. “It’s OK. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“How did you do that anyway?” Ren asked.

“Well...I can sort of tell these things…” she said. This left Ren and Ryuji a bit confused. “Follow me,” she continued. She left the ally with the two teens following her. They arrived at a small table. She sat down on the side closer to the buildings. “I’m a fortune teller.”

“I see,” Ren said.

“Really?” Ryuji questioned.

“You’re skeptical about THAT of all things?!” Morgana snipped.

“If you want, I can read your fortune,” the woman said.

“Well, we’re kind of busy right now,” Ren said. “But I’ll be sure to stop by again sometime.”

“I’d love to see you,” she said. Ren and Ryuji started to leave. “By the way, get to the street, take a right, go past the flower shop, and it will be on your right.”

Ren and Ryuji looked over, somewhat confused. Ren nodded and said “Thanks.” They proceed to follow the fortune teller’s directions.

“Well I’ll be…” Ryuji said in awe. They had arrived at Crossroads. “That lady is scary.”

“I disagree,” Ren said. “She did save us.”

“Well….yeah, you got a point…” Ryuji said. Ryuji looked at Ren. “Hey.” He got a little more serious. “You go. I’ll stay outside in case any other trouble comes up.”

“Thanks Ryuji,” she said, tousling his hair. “Hey. I know you’re trying your best. Don’t let stuff like this keep you down.”

Ryuji smiled. “Thanks.” Ren nodded and walked in.

Once she was in, she saw that there were two other women inside. One was the reporter she met before, and one was a large woman tending bar. “Heeeeeeeeeey!” Ohya said. “I’ve been waiting for you, ya know.”

Ren wasn’t sure what to think. “...Thanks?”

Ohya laughed. “You know, I had a feeling we’d see each other again. But where’s that red-haired girl you were with.”

“She’s busy,” Ren said.

“Aw, what a shame…” Ohya said. “Still, one out of two ain’t bad. AND you tell me you have juicy information. I can’t WAIT!” She turned to the bartender. “Lala-chan! Two shots!” Lala did nothing. “Huh? C’mon!”

“No,” Lala said. “I’m not letting a kid touch alcohol.”

“Oh. I assumed they were both for her” Ren said.

Ohya laughed again. “This kid gets it!”

“I’ll just take a water, if it’s all the same to you, Lala-chan, was it?” Ren said.

Lala nodded. “Smart kid. Makes me wonder what you’re doing with someone like this.”

“Lala-chan…” Ohya groaned. “Don’t be like that…”

“Besides, I’m no saint myself” Ren said, trying to relieve some pressure.

Lala sighed. “It’s fine. We’ve known each other for a while, so banter like that is common.”

“I see,” Ren said.

“Here you go” Lala said, giving Ren a glass of water, and Ohya those two shots.

Ohya down them, and found some new energy. “Alright! Let’s go!” Ohya walked over to a private area in the back. Ren followed her, taking a sip of her water. Once the two of them sat down, Ohya said “So. You wanna know what’s going on in Shibuya.”

Ren finished another sip. “Well, moreso what’s making it unsafe. Or who.”

“I see…” Ohya said. “Well, I certainly can help you, but I am going to need information in return.”

“That’s fine,” Ren said, taking another drink of her water.

“You said you had something about the Phantom Thieves?” Ohya inquired.

“Yeah” Ren answered. “What do you wish to know?”

“Hmmmm” Ohya wondered. “Well, there’s a lot of noise around them, but not much in the way of concrete information.”

“I assume they would prefer that,” Ren said.

“Right, of course,” Ohya said. “But I am wondering something. Their first target, that pervert teacher. How did they know to go after him? What guided them to him, you know?”

“I see,” Ren said. She took another sip. “Well, as it just so happens, I go to the school where that incident took place.”

“Really?” Ohya said. “Oh, uh are you OK talking about it then?”

“I’m fine,” Ren answered. “But I only just transferred there, so I don’t have as much knowledge.”

“Oh…” Ohya said, dejected.

“BUT I can give you someone to talk to who knows this better” Ren said.

“Really?” Ohya said 

Ren nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a second.” She set her water down and got out her phone. While she was doing that, Ohya ordered another drink from Lala.

Ren: Hey, you wanna do something for the PTs?

Mishima: Always!

Ren: Great! Can you talk to a reporter about Kamoshida without giving away too much, but still giving enough?

Mishima: A reporter? I dunno.

Mishima: What are they like?

Ren glanced at Ohya.

Ren: Her name is Ichiko Ohya, and she’s a bit of a free spirit.

Mishima: Really?

Mishima: Is she cute?

Ren: She’s something...

Mishima: I’m in.

Ren: Thanks.

Ren put her phone away. “Do you have a pen?” Ohya got one out and handed it to her. Ren took a napkin and wrote down Mishima’s contact information. “Here. This guy’s name is Mishima, and he had front row seats to Kamoshida’s theater of madness.”

Ohya took the info. She looked it over. “I see… Well, a deal’s a deal.” She took a drink of her new beverage. “Ah. Junya Kaneshiro. He’s been running things in Shibuya. If you’re looking for some shady deals in the area, he’s probably the guy.”

Ren smiled. “Thanks!”

She started to leave, but Ohya interrupted. “Hey!” Ren stopped. “I like you kid. If you have any more information, feel free to stop over. I’ll be here.” She took another swig of her drink.

Ren was a tad bit nervous, but somewhat optimistic. “If I have anything, I’ll be sure to come over.”

“Yay!” Ohya cheered. She took another drink.

Ren walked out. “I hope you know how to handle yourself,” Lala remarked. “She can be a lot.”

Ren smiled. “I think between the two of us, we can manage.”

“Heh,” Lala said. “I could use someone like you around here more often.”

Ren nodded. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise” Lala said. Ren headed out.

While Ren was meeting with Ohya, Ryuji was standing outside, looking around. He started getting bored after a bit, and started trying to relieve that boredom. “C’mon Ryuji this is for Niijima and her friend. Keep focus.” He saw that there were a couple of stones at his feet. He kicked one, smiling. However, he stopped smiling when it hit someone. “Oh crap. I’m so sorry!” he called out.

The person he hit was a man, wearing an open black trenchcoat, blue pants, a white dress shirt, and a red and black striped tie. The man looked over, and Ryuji noticed he had short black hair, with a little coming over his forehead, and blue eyes. “It’s alright. No one was hurt.” Ryuji sighed, relieved. The man walked over. “So, the prosecutor’s office is hiring kids now?”

“Huh?” Ryuji said, confused.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your mumblings” the man said. “You said you’re doing something for Niijima?”

“Oh” Ryuji said, surprised. “Oh, well, um, probably not the Niijima you’re thinking of. Unless she’s also student council president.”

“Huh. I see…” the man responded. He looked at Ryuji. “You go to Shujin, right?”

“Oh crap, not again!” Ryuji said.

He tried to book it, but the man stopped him. “Woah woah, relax” the man said. “I’m not gonna turn you in or anything.”

Ryuji groaned. “Sorry. I already let my friend down once tonight cause of this.”

The man smiled. “I get it. It’s not always easy to help friends. Trust me.”

Ryuji looked this man over. He SEEMS alright. He sighed. “My friend told me the same thing.”

“That’s the spirit,” the man said. “So, what are you doing out in Shinjuku anyways?”

“Oh, um, well…” Ryuji said, getting nervous. Don’t mention the Phantom Thieves. “We’re looking into something. Niijima-senpai put us up to it.”

“She did?” the man inquired.

“Yeah” Ryuji said. “There’s been a few incidents with some of our students, including one of Niijima-senpai’s fellow student council members. I think her name was Hagiwara. Anyway, we’re looking into a lead to help sort things out before things get out of control.”

“Hm,” the man grunted. He had a concerned look on his face. He shifted it to happy, and said “Well, I hope you figure this out. Seeya.” The man walked away.

A few minutes later, Ren came out of Crossroads. “Did you get it?” Ryuji asked.

Ren smiled and nodded. “Thanks for keeping watch.” The two headed out. Unbeknownst to them, the man Ryuji talked with was around the corner, spying on them. Once they had left, the man rushed into Crossroads.

Ohya and Lala took notice of this right away. “What do you want?” Ohya jeered.

The man became serious. “I should have known it was you.” Ohya raised her eyebrow. “Look, I know you just gave someone some information, and I want it.”

Ohya looked at him, took another drink, and said “Tough.” The man was surprised. “She gave me information, and I’m not going to turn my back on that for nothin’.”

The man smiled. “What if I have information of my own? Would you give it to me then?” he asked.

“Psh, better be worth something” Ohya said, brushing him off.

“Give me thirty minutes, and I promise, it’ll be worth more than gold,” the man said.

Ohya stared at him for a few seconds. “Fine.” The man left.

“You really think he’s got something?” Lala asked.

“Psh. He’s bluffing” Ohya answered.

Half an hour later, the man returned. He placed a flash drive down on the bar. “This is security footage of your associate Kayo wandering around the morning after that politician was found dead.” Ohya was shook to her core. She made a play for it, but the man retracted his hand. “The information.”

Ohya was breathing heavily. Lala was also impressed with what this guy was bringing to the table. Ohya eventually relented. “She...She was asking about why Shibuya was dangerous. So, I told her the man who is probably behind all of it.”

“And who might that be?” the man asked.

Ohya was hesitant. “...Junya Kaneshiro.”

This time, he was shaken to his core. He took a second to collect himself. He set the flash drive on the counter. “There. A deal’s a deal.” The man turned around and walked out.

He continued walking until he made it back to his apartment. He closed the door, and slumped down against it. He screamed in his hands. He took some more breaths. “Makoto...AND Kisa...getting involved with..with...that piece of GARBAGE?! GAH!”

He looked up. On his wall was a picture of a family, including a younger Kisa, but also excluding him. He walked over to it. He looked at Kisa in the picture. “What happened? Why aren’t you telling me things?” he asked. He looked at Kisa’s mom in the picture. “What am I going to tell you when things go wrong, sis?” He looked down.

He then looked over. There was another picture. This time, it was of a man, but also not him. Next to it, was a police badge. He walked over to it. Upon closer inspection, the badge reads “Nobuyuki Niijima, Tokyo P.D.” The man picked up the photo. “What would you do in a situation like this, Nobuyuki?”

There was a knock at his door. The man turned quickly. “Who’s there?” When there was no answer, he walked over to open the door. To his surprise, was a figure adorned in robes. “Who are you?”

They chuckled. “My name is Eris,” she said. She walked in, to the bemusement of the man. She turned back around as he closed the door.

“What do you want?” the man asked.

“Why, the same thing as you, of course,” Eris said. “I want that criminal scum off the streets.”

The man was confused and concerned. “Just let the police handle it.”

“I COULD,” Eris said. “But we both know how ineffective that can be.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You quit the force because of that, didn’t you?” The man became more fearful. “The way they ignored any leads on the murder of your partner.”

Eris started encircling this man. “And now, your partner’s daughter is getting involved with one of the most dangerous men in Tokyo. Not to mention your niece. Do you really expect the police to deal with this in a timely and efficient manner? Heh. Don’t answer. We both know what it would be.”

The man was petrified, but intrigued by this figure. “So what are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m not going to do a whole lot,” Eris said. “But I know YOU can! You can help clean up Tokyo. Starting with the person threatening your niece and your partner’s daughter: Junya Kaneshiro.” She took out an apple. “All you have to do is take a bite, and you will have the power to make Tokyo safe from monsters like him. So what do you say, Naoko Hamasaki?”

Naoko was scared. But he was more scared of doing nothing. More scared that he would have to lose Kisa and Makoto to a criminal, like he lost his partner. More scared that the police wouldn’t do anything if the worst happened. He grabbed a hold of the apple and intently took a bite of it. Once he swallowed it, he started laughing like a mad man. “Excellent choice” Eris said. She faded away.

A little later, some of Kaneshiro’s goons were patrolling the area. Soon, they were stopped by Naoko. The goons were confused. “What do you want?”

Naoko looked up at them. “You work for Kaneshiro?” The goons were confused. “I have a message for him.”

The goons looked at each other. “Yeah?” one of them asked. “Well, we’re not your own personal postal service.”

“Heh. Poor move” Naoko said. He rushed up and punched him in the face, sending him flying with blood coming out of his nose.

“What the?!” said another goon. The remaining two took out knives. However, Naoko dodged the first knife, uppercut the attacker’s jaw, and pressed him into the wall. He elbowed the remaining guy in the sternum without turning around. The goon collapsed and dropped his knife. He reached for it, but Naoko stepped on his wrist before he could get it.

Naoko picked up the goon. “I just have a simple message. Tell Junya Kaneshiro that his days are numbered.” Naoko threw the guy down and walked off into the night.

[creamypudding]

Process

Procrastination hour - it’s soon bed-time anyway so I’ll excuse myself from writing as I shift to SCREAMING INTO THE VOID. My chapter is a mess. This feels very much like that other chapter I had a breakdown over a while ago. I can’t even remember if it was for this fic or another one. But this current one feels very much in line with my workflow from back then. I am utilising colour-coding a lot more now though. It just sucks when partway down I forget what colour is supposed to represent what theme, so I end up using whatever I think is the right one, LOL! Anyway, I think I’m starting to thread the various bits and pieces together into some sort of order. But it’s very haphazard. I’ll find myself on one train of thought - desperately try and finish it, even as I skip pages and pages of other content so I can find where this theme concludes. And then I have to backtrack and pick up another thematic thread and try and flesh that out, and hope the whole thing will fit together as a whole.

Maybe a visual representation will get across how deeply fucked up this chapter is right now 😅 (see below)

I just need people to know how much I’m suffering right now. Writing isn’t easy. It’s also not this hard a lot of the time. This current scenario is just excruciating. But it’s all for the greater good, right? I’m so fucking close to finishing this monolith of a story. Just gotta hang in there and keep chipping away at it until it finally makes sense to me. So in the image below... the top part -which is ‘mostly’ devoid of colour, is ‘finished’ and I will most probably split and make that section into its own chapter. And then the rainbow of colour  below that is my great big mess, and the stuff after that is my ‘original chapter’ that I’m copying and pasting and reworking into the rainbow grosseness you see before you. I haven’t looked beyond the pink and red colour coding. All the stuff after that - the green and pink and poo brown - will also be fleshed out and go into it’s own chapter which will hopefully be more straight forward than the colour vomit middle I’m facing right now, lol.

It’s just.... hard. And hurts. But...time for rest and recharge. I hope tomorrow will bring more clarity, and maybe I can lock down a proper colour coding guide so I know what exactly I’m looking at, at a glance, lol. This is all part of the process.

[dontlookdown]

Nick’s Favourite Music of 2018

In the time that I’ve been doing these yearly round-ups (ten years(!), although my first list was literally just a list), they’ve gotten a bit easier to write. It probably helps that I’ve done actual planning-ahead for the last couple of turns. The one thing that doesn’t get any easier is these introduction posts.

2018 was, and I don’t think this is a controversial stance, shit. I joked this time last year that 2017 was best summed up as “further complications”, but 2018 was fucking something else. I’m resisting the urge to list my grievances, because I doubt I’d ever stop. It’s exhausting to even think about attempting to take stock of everything that happened. To cap it all off, the website I’ve published these posts on since the very beginning had a panic attack regarding the sexual content that some people were uploading, and decided to address the situation in the bluntest way possible. This isn’t something that affects me directly (there’re no nudes in my blog. Hell, I felt anxious about including a photo of myself with clothes on that one time), but it affects people I look up to and care about, and a good portion of my audience for these things. I’ve considered leaving the site entirely in solidarity. I still might. It might be time that I focused more energy on writing a bit more frequently anyway, and setting up a new home for my work is a good starting point. Demi Lovato believes in me. We’ll see.

But for now, let’s focus on the reason that you clicked on this link in the first place: the music of 2018.

It was a good year. It was also a strange one for me. Whereas in previous years there were always one or two big standout albums or songs that held my attention for months on end, this year I really had to dig deep and re-listen to a heap of stuff to remind myself of what had actually left an impression on me. The critical consensus was all over the place too. The end-of-year lists I’ve seen from various outlets over the last two months have been the most diverse I’ve seen for as long as I’ve been paying attention. There were a few names they had in common, but they all featured a lot of unique choices. Hopefully you’ll feel the same about mine!

Sticking to my familiar rules (20 songs, no repeating artists) always means that there’s a couple of gems that don’t make the final cut. 2018’s wide breadth of musical talent means that this is the longest ‘honourable mentions’ list I’ve ever done! Here they are:

Beach House – Lemon Glow

Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally’s seventh album was probably my most re-listened album of the year. They’ve always been a band with a sound that rewarded repeat plays, but this release seemed to have its own gravitational pull that kept me coming back to reappraise it, despite finding it a little overwhelming on multiple occasions. “Lemon Glow” absolutely excels as a lead single. Those gravitational waves are in full force here, a light electronic throbbing acting as the thread I kept trying to follow to the end.

The Beths – Little Death

The Beths were a late discovery, and welcome breath of fresh air after I’d been deep in a fog of more ambient sounds. If you’ve been looking for a vibrant, punchy rock band to brighten your January, I highly recommend them.

Jenny Hval – Spells

Part of my planning process this year was learning to accept that I don’t always have the words or ability to explicitly pinpoint what I like about particular songs. This track is just nice. I like the way it glides along, building up ever-so-slightly as it goes.

Joey Purp – Elastic

Joey Purp followed up iiiDrops and “Girls@” with even-more-minimalist trap. This is straight no-nonsense fire. Add it to your dance playlist. And if you don’t have a dance playlist, make one!

Kali Uchis - After the Storm (feat. Tyler, The Creator & Bootsy Collins)

Kali Uchis’s debut Isolation proved her to be an artist with fantastic taste. It’s a lot easier to nail a woozy sound that throws back to the work of Parliament-Funkadelic when you get one of the original members involved. I also want to highlight Bootsy’s use of the amazing line “Look both ways before you cross my mind” which, incredibly, is a phrase that no one seemed to have coined before George Clinton dropped it on To Pimp a Butterfly in 2015. It’s a line that perfectly encapsulates the P-funk mood, and it’s less than five years old!

Let’s Eat Grandma – Ava

Let’s Eat Grandma’s (no, I’m not sure how I feel about the name either) second album split focus between spacey synth-pop journeys and straightforward piano ballads. “Ava” is one of the latter, beautiful with lo-fi touches (listen closely and you can hear the rain falling on the recording studio windows). Enjoy this track now, before someone sticks it a Christmas advert for a shop.

Madison McFerrin – Insane

I’ll save you the Google. Yes, Madison McFerrin is the daughter of Bobby ��Don’t Worry, Be Happy” McFerrin and, yes, she also has a unique talent for vocalising. Musically speaking, this track comfortably sits in-between the work of Sade and Solange.

Post Malone & Swae Lee – Sunflower

Among the many, many accomplishments of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is this cut from its soundtrack, a Post Malone track that I actually like!

Robyn – Missing U

Robyn’s been one of my favourite pop artists for a while now, so I really, really wanted to love her big return. Sadly, I’m not quite there yet. The music on Honey is lot colder than I’m used to, most likely by design to reflect the change in Robyn’s (and the world’s) mood in the years since Body Talk. “Missing U” is the closest thing the album has to a big hook-y single like “Call Your Grilfriend” or “Dancing On My Own”.

Spiritualized – I’m Your Man

J Spaceman approached his final album as Spiritualized with as much brassy gusto as he did twenty years ago. A gorgeous send off.

Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

I understand the disappointment some people had when was released and sounded nothing like AM, but I think those people lost sight of the bigger Arctic Monkeys picture. The lounge-y, Pulp-y sound of Tranquility Base is something that Alex Turner has been hinting at since the Submarine soundtrack. I heard the album several times and, while there isn’t any standout track that makes everything make sense, I’ve never been bored listening to it.

Jon Hopkins – Singularity

Bleeps, bloops, beats and bliss. Jon Hopkins continues his reign as one of the premier electronic musicians.

Pusha T – Daytona

The hardest, sharpest (and shortest) hip-hop album of the year. A reminder that King Push’s skills as an MC haven’t dulled, and neither has Kanye’s skill as a producer. Ye was crap, though.

Tierra Whack – Whack World

An interesting experiment to debut with, Whack World is a 15 minute album with 15 tracks, all unique in their sound, and all with their own music video (presented as one 15 minute film). Few of the tracks are long enough to stand as songs on their own, but they weren’t designed to be. These are concentrated blasts of pure creativity, and deserve to be supported. Besides, there was something really cathartic of seeing Tierra cheerfully singing “Fuck Off” while gleefully snipping balloons free of their strings. “Pretty Ugly” was my personal favourite.

Angélique Kidjo – Remain in Light

This was a nice surprise that popped up on my Spotify Discover. Remain in Light by Talking Heads is one of my all-time favourite albums, a moment when the band fully embraced an Afrobeat influence and stretched it as far as they could. But what if an actual Afrobeat musician had recorded that album? The answer is Angélique Kidjo’s full-length cover album, another Spotify Discover, uh, discovery. A fascinating, and highly danceable, rework. Tracks like “Once in a Lifetime” were already rays of sunshine. Kidjo’s arrangements turns them supernova.

Justin Hurwitz – First Man

2018 was an equally cramped year for films too. First Man seems to be getting ignored by the major awards, which is a shame as it was one of my favourites of the year. (Hey! If you’d like to see me expand on that thought, you consider subscribing to our film podcast, Sunshine Cinema Club! We’re about to cover our top ten of the year! First Man will be one of them!) I’m especially disappointed that people aren’t talking about Justin Hurwitz’s score, which combined the saddest instrument in the world (the theremin) and the gentlest instrument on the world (the harp) to create the loneliest soundtrack of all time. The perfect accompaniment to a story of a man, emotions dulled by grief, faced with the infinite possibilities of space travel.

As always, I’ll be posting about the twenty entries on my list across the next twenty days. Here’s the Spotify playlist of the final twenty, sequenced for musical effect.

In the past, I’ve updated the Spotify list as the entries go up, acting as some sort of musical advert calendar, keeping future songs under wraps. It’s since occurred to me that this method isn’t actually useful to anybody. Nobody cares about spoilers when it comes to this list, and it’s a big ask for people to keep tabs on a blog and a playlist for three weeks. So, consider that list a preview for what’s coming up and a chance to wonder how I’m going to justify sticking Drake and a black metal band on the same list! (I won’t. Accept my weird, varied taste in music!)

Lists from previous years can be found easily using the tag “best+of+20xx”. See you tomorrow!