#found an okay version she sent to an interviewer but it's not as big/crisp

[birindale]

the designer of She-Ra

Another of the Power-Con 2016 panels, by Justine Dantzer, the designer of She-Ra, featuring her history with the line & some pretty delightful preliminary art. I'll be posting some still images soon (have to crack a few urls first) but I’d like to get the full presentation up here, because it’s actually like. pretty cool.

Below, I’ve transcribed a bit from right after the 24 minute mark where she discusses the emotional origins of She-Ra: Her childhood as a victim of abuse. so. viewer/reader discretion is advised below the cut

I was a little girl in Toledo, Ohio, and I was severely abused. I had a mother who tried to kill me twice. And um, she was schizophrenic, narcissist, borderline, un-cared for, un-doctored, un-medicated. And I grew up never knowing if--never knowing what would happen next. And she didn't just abuse me, she abused my siblings, too. And so as a kid then, what do I do? I read comics. I went to comics. I bought the--every time I had some money, I bought comics. And I read the comics and I was uh, you know, kinda criticized for reading all of my Superman comics, my Batman comics, like, and all the comics I collected--and I collected them--and um, so what I did, is I was trying to understand what was happening in my life. And I wanted a hero. And I didn't have one.

And uh, Bow has a heart, because my dad couldn't own his. He never, ever stopped my mother, not once. And Bow is wounded with his hand, because my father never lifted a finger. So when I sat down to do a male action character, Bow was there. He was there and he was waiting. And that’s how he came out. And when I sat down to do She-Ra? She was there. Because I realized... the hero was me. And She-Ra was waiting, in me. So you know, what's so interesting is here we are, 32 years later, and you guys still love her. And there was power, apparently! I didn't create that name, but that was a good name, because there was power that came down all these years. And these characters--I don't care what form, it's fantastic it exists at all. So thank you guys. Thank you guys. For understanding that somewhere in this character, you were owning yourselves. So, power to you!

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 44: Three Stories

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

Takiyo Aoyama Starts to Shine

When he had accepted the offer from Cellophane—the Number Fifty-Two Hero—Takiyo Aoyama hadn’t been certain of what to expect.  He was not close to most of his classmates, though he was probably closer to Akaya Koda than anyone.  And he maintained a—usually—cordial relationship with Kimiko Ojiro, due to a shared love of gossip.  He had even started speaking more with Isamu Haimawari, after seeing how hard he was working to prove himself, something he could understand.  But he could not claim to be close to Takuma Sero, despite sharing a floor with him in the dorms.

He had certainly spent time around the elder Sero; they’d all been around each other enough for that, but not in years.   So he had little basis to form his expectations on, save for the rather copious amounts of interviews and candid moments available on the internet.  These revealed only that he was personable, humble, and seemed to be rather behind the times in terms of slang.

That was… tolerable. Being able to cultivate a media presence was essential to being a Hero.  Many Heroes never rose very high in the rankings simply because, while they were effective in stopping Villains, they were patently unlikable.   There were exceptions, of course, but it was generally a truism.

He had failed to make much of himself at the Sports Festival, but perhaps he could begin to get the exposure he needed now.

Though he was beginning to wonder if exposure was worth… this.

To say Cellophane’s Agency was casual was putting it mildly.  All of the staff that worked there were in polos and khakis.  And as for Cellophane himself…  

“Yeah, I like to keep things casual when I first come in in the morning,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair.  His shirt was fashionable enough, well-tailored to accommodate his rather unique arms.  But as for the rest of him…  Sandals!  With socks!   Cargo shorts!  “Have a little coffee, catch up on e-mails and paperwork, then get set for a little bit of patrolling.”  He cracked his knuckles noisily.

The unfashionableness of this place was going to give him hives.  How could his papa not have warned him against this?

“You did good, kid,” Cellophane said, “but you’ve really got to learn to unclench.  I can see right now you’re about ready to have some kind of attack.  Don’t stress yourself so much.  Really, you’re reminding me of your dad, back before the whole cheese thing with Izuku. Why, I remember…”

The phone on his desk started ringing and he held up a finger.  He picked up the phone, “Hey, hon, what’s up?”

He went slightly flush as he listened to his wife.  “Yeah, sure, I can pick that up on my way home.  Yeah, that too.  And… sure… I can… do that… when I get…    Can we talk about this later?  When I don’t have a teenager in the room, listening?   Yeah, I know we talk about it in front of our kids, but they’re not a good barometer for that…”

Takiyo was rapidly wishing he’d gone anywhere else for this.

***

“Dump me, will she?” the Villain snarled.  He was large, larger than even Shoji or Koda, larger than All Might, and seemingly built out of black rocks, blazing red lines showing between the cracks.   “I’ll show her!  I’ll show that namby-pamby new boyfriend!  I’ll show everybody!”

He drew back his hand, like he was able to throw a ball, and when he launched it forward, he threw a hot blob of lava.  It struck a car, crashing through it, and melting what it did not smash.  People were screaming, people were running everywhere. If the target of his rage was actually in the crowd, Takiyo did not know.   Cellophane’s Sidekicks, whom Takiyo had not bothered to learn the names of (One had some kind of lubrication Quirk and the other did something with friction?  He really wasn’t paying attention.), were coordinating the evacuation of the area.  So far, all the Villain had done was property damage.  But the odds were increasing that someone, intentionally or not, would get hurt.

“…Well, he’s big,” Cellophane said.  “Maybe I should have left you behind.”

He pulled down the faceplate on his costume.  “Actually, think you could come up with a distraction?”

At that, Takiyo smiled and gave his cape a dramatic flourish.  “Getting eyes on me?  A piece of cake.”

“Good,” Cellophane said, firing off a line of tape and pulling himself with it.  “Just give me five minutes!”

Takiyo stepped into the Villain’s field of view.  “Bonjour, Monsieur Villian!” he said, letting loose a dazzling, strobing beam of light across his field of vision.  

The lava-man’s glowing eyes snapped in his direction, one hand up to shield them from further brilliance.  “Some kid?” he growled.  “That’s who they sent to stop me?  What’re you, twelve?!”

“Non!” he shouted, raising both hands.  He focused the stored light within him outward, raising his radiance until it was blinding.   “I am the one who is going to stop you!”  He flashed again, sending out another pulse of light.  “I am the Dazzling Hero: Radiance!”  Another flash.

“Argh!” The lava man took a step back, glowing eyes dimming and brightening in what must have been his version of blinking. “Damn kid!  You’re like some overgrown glowstick!  But I’ll put out your lights!”  He brought up both of his hands, gathering more lava there.

Fear gripped Takiyo’s heart.  He was going to die.  It was as simple as that.  Burned to a crisp, denied leaving even a beautiful corpse for the world to mourn over. He’d never be a Hero.  He’d never get the chance to make amends for what he’d done…

“STICKY STORM!”

Suddenly, the air was filled with long strands of tape, wrapping around the Villain until he was completely cocooned.  The lava he’d been forming fell to the ground it a heap, eating its way through the pavement, but at least it hadn’t come at him.   From above, Cellophane dropped down, then popped up the faceplate on his mask.  “Good job, kid!” he declared, giving a toothy grin and a thumbs up.  “You okay?  That looked pretty scary.  Didn’t think he’d get that angry like that.”

Takiyo had to wait until his heart started beating again before he could speak. “Fine,” he said, trying to project a confidence he did not feel.  “Only scary for a moment.  One more blast of light and he would have been taken care of.”

“Sure,” Cellophane said, though Takiyo was certain his lie was not believed.  Around them, people were starting to gather. Police, reporters, witnesses.  He put one arm around Takiyo and waved to the crowd with the other.  “Hero of the Hour, ladies and gentlemen!  My Intern!”

***

The picture on the front page of the paper the next day was… strange.  There was the wrapped lava Villain on the ground, there was Cellophane.  And where he should have been… was a vaguely person shaped bright blob.

Takiyo stared at it, mouth agape.

“Not bad, huh?” Cellophane asked.  “Not every day an Intern makes the paper on his first day.  

“I did not realize I do not photograph well,” Takiyo said.  “I did as a child.  My Quirk… it must be getting stronger.  Absorbing more light.  Even the camera flash.”

This was going to put a serious cramp in his plans for fame.

“Eh, relax,” Cellophane said, slurping his coffee.  “You’ll have plenty of photo-ops, I’m sure.  And, if you don’t, well, there’s always radio.”

Takiyo’s mouth opened and shut, but no sounds came out.  He really didn’t know what to say to that.

***

Daisuke Shoji Did Not Sign Up For This

“You idiots!”

Daisuke carefully set the weights he was lifting (roughly 1080 kilograms with each set of arms) down, before looking towards the doorway of the Real-Riot Agency’s gym.  Red Riot, Real Steel, and Shiro Monoma (somehow Red Riot’s intern, the way he was Real Steel’s) all paused in their workout to look as well.

“What,” the small woman said, looking like she was ready to kill the first person who said something stupid, “have I told you about agreeing to things without asking me?”

Red Riot looked a bit sheepish at the accusation.  “Kids, meet Shizuka Yamamoto, our Office Manager.”

“And the only reason you two haven’t done a lot more stupid things!” Yamamoto said, putting one hand on her hip and pointing at Red Riot with the other.  “Which one of you did this?  I need to know who to smack.”

“What’re you talking about?” Real Steel asked, squinting with confusion.  “We haven’t agreed to anythi… oh!  That!”

“Yes, that!”  She reached into her pocket and unfolded a flier. “Red Riot and Real Steel Home Exercise Videos: How to Get Hard!”

“Oh, yeah!’ Red Riot said, flashing a toothy grin.  “Isn’t it manly?”

“The video people thought it was a great name!” Real Steel added, giving an oddly similar shark-toothed grin.

Monoma shot Daisuke a glance.  “This might get bad real fast,” he said.  “If that happens, just run.”

He raised an eyebrow. The blond from 1-B had been unusually sullen since they’d both arrived at the Agency, lacking his usual arrogant sneer he had when dealing with members of Daisuke’s class.  Granted, Daisuke had very little to do with him even under the most ideal circumstances, but his limited experience suggested something was off here.  Surprising, really, considering he’d made it to the Tournament Round of the Festival, something Daisuke couldn’t say.  And yet here they both were, interning with the Heroes who shared the Number Ten spot.

“Yamamoto is incredibly frightening when she’s angry,” Monoma elaborated.  “I’ve spent enough time around the Tetsutetsus and Kirishima-Bakugos to know that.”

Yamamoto took a deep breath and Daisuke assumed she was probably counting down from ten.  She pinched the bridge of her nose.   “Do you two idiots remember the charity wrestling match you did?  When you went off script?  “The power of two hard men?”  It’s like you’re trying to make yourself look like idiots!  Do you know how much of a credibility problem it causes?  Every time?”

“But we are two hard men,” Red Riot said.

“The hardest!” Real Steel added.

Daisuke would later swear he hadn’t seen Yamamoto move, but in the blink of his eye, both Red Riot and Real Steel were on the ground, rubbing their cheeks like they’d been slapped. Yamamoto’s hair was slightly messed up, as though she’d been running the mind.  Did she have a speed Quirk?

“Do you know how much work I’m going to have to do to fix this, you idiots?!”

He felt Monoma give his arm a tug.  “We should run.”

Daisuke looked at him, then at the growing argument. While a Hero should always be ready to intervene when needed, he also made it a personal goal to stay out of other people’s drama.  Considering he lived on a floor with Sero, Sato, and Aoyama, that was frequently a challenge.

“Agreed,” he said.

***

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Daisuke said, as he unwrapped the first of the take-out sandwiches he’d ordered (he needed a lot of calories), “but are you all right?”

Monoma barely looked up from the soup he was (barely) eating, as the two of them sat in the Agency’s breakrooms.  “Mhm.”

Earlier, they’d joined Red Riot and Real Steel on a mutual patrol. The patrol itself had been easy enough. No trouble today, but Red Riot and Real Steel had both been experts at navigating rooftops.  With his Extendo-Arms, Daisuke could easily keep up. They didn’t have a lot of advice for him yet, but tomorrow promised some combat training, and both certainly had the muscle to help hone his fighting style.

While Monoma had more than been able to keep up with them (an impressive feat, considering his Quirk offered him no enhanced physicality), he had seem distracted and was quite jumpy every time Red Riot spoke to him.

“Look,” Daisuke said, “we’re not friends.  But we are in this together.  If you’re distracted out there, it doesn’t just put you at risk.”

That, at least, got Monoma to look up.  “I’m fine,” he growled.  “I’ll get my head back in the game.  Don’t worry about it.  Just having a bad day.”

That was fair enough, Daisuke supposed.  Monoma’s personal problems weren’t any of his business.  Maybe that was all there was to it.  He didn’t have the context to form a proper opinion.

Monoma returned to eating his soup, head down and avoiding Daisuke’s gaze. “Like you’d understand anyway,” he said, under his breath.

Most people wouldn’t have been able to hear that.  It was little more than a whisper and Monoma hadn’t been looking at him when he’d said it. While his Quirk did nothing for his hearing, Daisuke had spent a lot of time with his dad learning how to listen. He did it without thinking now, always listening and paying attention to the sounds others might miss.

“Excuse me?” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “Care to repeat that?”  Daisuke considered himself pretty even tempered, but to just say something like that right in front of him was not something he could just let go.

Monoma’s head snapped up and he fixed Daisuke with a glare.   “…You really don’t know, do you?”

He shook his head. “Know what?”

The blond boy’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know.”

Daisuke stood up. “Stop talking in circles.  What don’t I know?”

“That you’ve been voted the hottest guy in 1-A.  Hell, you’ve been voted hottest guy in the entire damn first year Hero Course. Pretty much everyone who likes men is into you.” Monoma pushed his chair back from the table and stood.  “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know about this?”

At this, Daisuke had to sit down, grabbing his water bottle with his upper-right Extendo-Arm and bringing it to his lips.  He took a long drink before he answered, his other arms slumping.  “Really?  They’re all objectifying me?  Just like that?”

He knew, of course, that Mineta found him attractive.  That was hardly a surprise.  Her type was “has a pulse.”  He was even vaguely aware that Sero sometimes stared at him, though that seemed to have tapered off since he had started dating Iida.  And Tokoyami’s familiar Frog-Shadow was always far too happy to see him.

But all of them?  He knew he was in good shape, but he hardly thought he was so good looking at to be more highly regarded than any of the other boys in his year.

“At least according to Fukidashi,” Monoma said.  “Who’s an ardent follower of Ojiro’s webcast.  If anyone would know, it would be the two of them.  Ojiro’s actually got quite the well-developed analytic and observational skills… she just chooses poorly how to apply them.”

Daisuke just shook his head, closed his eyes, and let out a frustrated sigh. So he was being objectified.  By pretty much everyone.  Great.   “Nice job pivoting the conversation away from you, by the way,” he said.

Monoma let out a squeak. “Not my intention.  I wanted to shut it all down.”

He opened his eyes as a few details finished assembling themselves in his mind.  “Would your distraction have anything to do with Kirishima-Bakugo?  Is that why you’re so jumpy around Red Riot?”

“I… don’t have to answer that,” Monoma said.  His mouth slightly agape in surprise.  

Daisuke shrugged, a movement copied by all his arms.  “It’s not my business,” he said.  “It’s yours. But get your drama figured out.”

When Monoma had left the room, Daisuke pulled out his phone.  The lock screen showed himself, two of his three left arms around a girl with bright blue hair and dark glasses, a white cane held loosely in one hand. “Hottest boy in the Hero Course…? Emiko’s going to kill me.”  

***

Takuma Sero Gets the Money Shot

“Hey there viewers,” Takuma whispered into his phone.  The front facing camera view was a little bad, especially in the low light, but sometimes, sacrifices were made for fame.  “I’m out on Internship with Number Twenty-Seven Hero, Tsukuyomi.”

He adjusted the angle of his phone, to capture Tsukuyomi standing on the edge of the rooftop, peering out over the cityscape, his black cape fluttering in the night’s breeze, before returning it to a close-up of his own face.

“And remember, Kimiko Ojiro and Kenta Sato will be uploading their own video diaries of their Internships later!  Which you’ll get notifications of if you’re subscribed!”

He gave the camera his best grin.  “I gotta say, though, I don’t know about this, viewers.  Best offer I got, but he is a broooooder.  Not at all a fabulous ray of sunshine like me.  But if we’re lucky, you’ll get to see yours truly in action, viewers!  Maybe even a little Swing Cam!”

That was his name for when he affixed his phone to his chest, while swinging from spot to spot with his Acid Tape.  Like first-person roller coaster footage.  Very popular, especially with the adrenaline junkies.

“Oh, and if you’re watching this, Tensei,” he said, giving the camera another grin, a real one, not the stage one he used for his show, “miss you, babe.  Hope your Internship’s going good!  Air kiss!”  He punctuated that with some air kisses.

“Okay,” he went on, “so, tonight…”

Suddenly, something dark snatched his phone right out of his hands!  He turned to watch Dark Shadow flowing forth from Tsukuyomi, his phone in its hands.  “Hey!” Takuma cried out.  “That’s mine!”  He’d had just enough time to hit “post” before it had been torn from his fingers.

Tsukuyomi regarded him with a dark gaze, his beak pressed firmly together.  “There will be no phone use while on patrol,” he said.  

“Yeah!” Dark Shadow added, tossing the phone over the edge of the roof.  “No phones!”

Takuma watched it fall, feeling like his heart was falling with it.  True, everything on it was automatically backed up to wireless data storage.  And true, he’d been meaning to upgrade anyway (the newest model had a really great camera).  But it was the principle of the thing!

The bird-headed Hero recalled Dark Shadow back into himself, his gaze never wavering from Takuma. “Undisciplined, easily distracted, showboating.  All these and more are descriptions I could bestow upon you.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Takuma said, rolling his eyes.  Automatic reflex, he couldn’t help it.  He might be flunking English, but Sarcasm was a language he was much more fluent in.  

“Child, there are so many more words I could use.  Be thankful I chose to limit myself to those.  Your mother may have failed to instill proper discipline in you, but I will more than make up for it this week.”

“What are you talking about?” Takuma demanded, a hand to his chest in indignation.  How could he say he was undisciplined?  Didn’t he know how much effort it took to put together a regular web program?  With three different stars?  All while studying boring regular school subjects and learning to be a Hero?

“You and yours are a den of chaos,” Tsukuyomi said.  “I shall tame it.  And to do so, I have severed your material bonds.”

“But what about my followers?!” Takuma demanded.  If he had a week with no new content, he’d lose countless followers!  His hit count would be in the toilet!  He’d have almost no validation from people he’d never met!

And how was he supposed to talk to his boyfriend?  …If he told this story to anyone, he’d probably better put that concern first.

“They will survive without you, I suspect,” Tsukuyomi said.  “Whether or not you do is another matter entirely.”

“And Mom says you’re not funny.”

Tsukuyomi tilted his head to one side.  “Funny?”

“That was a joke, right? …Tell me that was a joke!”

***

Takuma had officially met his new favorite person.  His only regret was that he still hadn’t been able to replace his phone, because this really, really needed to be recorded for posterity.  This was literally the greatest blackmail material he’d ever been handed.

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. She’s introduced herself as Yuka, though her Pro-Hero name was Shadow-Dancer.   She was one of Tsukuyomi’s Sidekicks, though apparently she was just a few months out from starting her own Agency.  Her Quirk let her meld with darkness and then possess and animate inanimate objects in that darkness.  She was supposed to have been giving them an update on recent Villain activity in the prefecture.  But this was so much better.

“I’ve known Mister Bird since I was a little girl.  He actually helped me out when my Quirk first manifested.”

A mischievous grin crossed her face.  “I was a little afraid of him at first, but I got over it pretty quick.  Of course, he was wearing monkey ears at the time.  I think I even developed a little crush on him after that.”

Takuma felt his jaw drop. He pushed it back up with his hand. “Oh.  Oh.  Oh! Tell me there are pictures of this somewhere.”

She laughed.  “Probably in a box in my mom’s house somewhere.”

Tsukuyomi gave her a scowl. “Must you tell this story to everyone you meet?  I am trying to instill some sense of discipline in the boy and here you are, filling his head with nonsense.”

Yuka put a hand to her mouth, laughing behind it.  “So serious, Mister Bird.”

“And I have asked you to stop calling me that,” Tsukuyomi said.  His feathers ruffled in what Takuma knew from watching Tokoyami was a sure sign of embarrassment.  “For years now.”

“Sure, Mister Bird.”

“You do know I am your boss? Perhaps you should continue your actual presentation?”

“Oh, if you insist,” she told him.  But she gave Takuma a wink.  “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots more stories about Mister Bird.”

***

“Hey there, viewers!” he said, adjusting the angle on the camera, “I’m back!”  He was glad he’d been able to pick up a new model so quickly. Thank goodness for good insurance plans. Too bad it had taken until the third day of his Internship.

Mom was probably going to tear Tsukuyomi a new one when she found out he destroyed his old phone. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, he could actually get that on video.  That would generate a hell of a lot of hits.

It might upset Tokoyami though.  Which would be bad.  She was pretty much the Mom Friend of the entire class.

Maybe he wouldn’t then.

Still, he did have to be quiet about this.  He was supposed to be catching some sleep, bunked down in Tsukuyomi’s Agency.  One other Sidekick was “on duty”, sleeping away on the other side of the room, just in case there were any calls.  Not that he was getting much sleep to begin with.  Tsukuyomi preferred to operate at night, which left him trying to get his sleep during the day.

“And now with improved picture quality,” he added, “you can see my fabulous pinkness in higher definition than ever before.  But sorry, ladies, I just want to remind you I don’t swing that way.  And gentlemen… I’m off the market.  Still all yours, Tensei!”

He flashed the camera another winning grin.  “Seriously though, viewers, this Internship has been intense.  Tsukuyomi knows what he’s doing.  I mean, he is dedicated.  Takes down bad guys hard and fast.  And I am learning.  Got a couple cool new tricks I can’t wait to show off.  Guy really does care about people, behind all the brooding and intensity and brooding intensity and intense brooding”

Not the least of his new tricks was a whole new way to use his Acid Tape.  If he flicked his wrist just right, he could actually start wrapping the tape around his arms.  And if he changed the acidity vs. stickiness factor… he either had an Acid Punch or a Sticky Punch.  Both of which had a lot of usefulness.  Not to mention a whole lot of video potential!

The corners of his mouth dipped down.  “If I can get him to stop criticizing me, that is.  Seriously, dude destroyed my last phone.  Who does that?  And he accused me of being more concerned with my social media presence than being a Hero!  Can you believe that?

Anyway, that’s my update! Don’t forget to hit like and surprise, and leave some encouragement in the comments!”

[jetmalek]

Across the Table

Kenji didn’t want me to interview him.  “I don’t care,” he enunciated, slender eyes becoming even narrower as he glared at me, “If everybody else thinks I’m toast. Or waffles. Or any other beloved thing.  “What matters is, I’m not great. Stop talking to me, about me. And give me some space.”  “But I haven’t talked to you in years,” I rejoined. My pen twirled in my hands between my fingers— until I realized, I’m not very good at this. The pen dropped from out of my hand and plunked onto the tabletop sitting between us. “Does that count, for what you want?”  “I,” he uttered as he opened his mouth wide, as if to object. But his mouth formed a self-aware ‘O’ shape, and he frowned— this time, he did not direct it at me. He eventually closed his mouth, and opened it again— but still couldn't seem to find words to say.  Finally, he crossed his arms and turned his face aside, glaring at the wall to his right.  “Fine,” he muttered. “You can ask me dumb questions.” 

OC (Original Character) Interview

Tagged by: darkness1247

Rules: 1. Choose one of your OCs. 2. Your OC SHOULD NOT lie. 3. Journal title should be "OC Interview". 4. When you’re done, tag as many people as you wish. 5. Have fun! 

OC being interviewed: Kenji Imamoto

1. What is your real name and nickname?

 Kenji’s eyelids scrunched tightly, shutting me out. “You already stated who I am. What’s with this first question?”

 I admitted a shrug and a nod, neither of which he could see while squeezing his eyes closed. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure either. These are questions created by, I’m not sure who originally. I was asked to interview an original character of mine, though; provided no other questions besides these. I’m stating the originals- to keep the format authentic. But feel free to improvise on your answers, just as you might want me to ask different questions. Does that sound fair?”

 Kenji opened his left eye slightly.

 Considering me out of the corner of his eye,

I thought.  “Okay, then.”

I have no nicknames.

... …Don’t anyone call me, ‘Ken.’

2. Interesting... What's your current age?

 “Remember,” I added quickly, “I didn’t write these questions.”  Kenji gave an almost imperceptible nod as he opened both of his eyes again. But his gaze was not directed at me. As I studied his face, I came up with a label for his expression: 'Bored.'

 “And what would your alternate version be?”

Alternate Question 2: About how old are you?

That’s much better. Less rude; less intrusive.

I’m in my late twenties, even though I shouldn’t be.

It’s either that or I shouldn’t still be in college. But whatever.  

3. What's your favorite food?

 For the first time, Kenji’s shoulders started to relax and his eyes almost lit up. At the very least, his demeanor improved as he turned in his chair, three-quarters of the way, until he was almost facing me directly.

Toast.

With or without butter. Margarine. Grease spread. I don’t care.

But you have to put eggs on top of it. Scrambled or fried, doesn’t matter.

Eggs and toast. One atop the other. That’s the only viable way to have them.

4. And your favorite drink?

 When Kenji's immediate response was a sneer, I believed that his momentary passion for the interview had already waned.  “I’m not stupid!" he snapped. But then he told me in a more even tone, "Half-dragons shouldn’t drink alcohol,” by way of further explanation.  Kenji is a half-dragon. I instantly understood: he was concerned about self-control.  “Well,” I spoke cautiously, staring down at the tabletop— I was feeling a little embarrassed, myself. I stroked the surface of it with one finger, like I was trying to rub off some dirt that I had found. “I know that it sounds like, ‘drink,’ as in, ‘wine or beer.' But I don’t believe that the person who wrote this question had intended, ‘alcoholic beverages, only.’ Maybe, some interviewees have a favorite soft drink?” 

 “They might," came his crisp reply, "But I don’t.” 

 “Okay!” I offered cheerily. This, I didn’t mind; having a specific answer, regardless of his tone, meant a lot to me. “Would you like that response to be what I record?”  Kenji rubbed the side of his cheek with his thumb as he eyed me at length.

I don’t have any ‘liked’ beverages. I get hydrated; what else is there to like?

 But suddenly, there seemed to be a change on his face again. With the corners of his mouth twitching- almost as if he were fighting back a smile of some sort- he slightly parted his lips, and quickly asked, “Hot or cold?”  “What was that?” Yet I stopped myself mid-thought, snapped my fingers, and pointed at him excitedly. “Yes! Hot or cold beverages— either one of those counts!” 

I have a favorite. I was wrong.

It's hot apple cider.

No whipped cream is necessary.

Though I guess it couldn’t hurt.

Caramel toppings are fine. Except, no hard candy pieces. That would be gross and would interfere.

Sure, then: a smooth caramel sauce drizzled into a hot mug of apple cider. That is the perfect beverage.  

5. Confession time! Who's your lover?

 Immediately, I pinched my lips together and frowned severely with my eyebrows. “Kenji, I’m sorry; I hated that question. I could ask instead, ‘Where have you lived? Both before and now?’ Not. That. Question. I’m really—”  He held up his hand in a gesture that read to me, ‘Stop.’ So I fell silent. But he then extended this same hand as he lowered it- palm upwards, towards me- and assured in speech, “It’s all right. I could tell. That was worded in a way that you would never use. I know you at least that well.”  At this unexpected show of kindness, I had to look down at my paper again and try to hide my eyes. They were teary.   Yes, yes. Time to write down his answers, instead of thinking about how touched I am, I silently chided myself. 

To answer whoever it was that asked: ‘My lover’ is no one.

To answer my author, Jet Malek: I’ve lived in Stray’s Sendai Japan, for most of my life. I’ve briefly lived in one of Stray’s secluded Dragon communities, too; I’m not sure where it was located geographically. And, finally, I now live in Stray’s Manhattan New York.

6. Have you kissed anyone yet?

Along the same lines as before: 'No.' Next question.

7. What about your childhood sweetheart?

Is this interviewer obsessed? Love-life. Questions. Three of them, right in a row.

All taking place immediately after, ‘Favorite soft drink?’ Wow. Are they serious?

What a way to 'try and get to know’ me, whoever it is.

 Even though I didn’t want to obscure any of his answers- I preferred to hear Kenji talk rather than see Kenji pout- I did want to add a small word of counsel. “We don’t know if this interviewer had a great relationship with their own characters, and wanted his/her level of comfort transferred into a questionnaire. Also, admittedly you and I were both more enchanted about romance when we were littler: this interviewer could have been any age when he/she wrote this. Ten? Eight? Nineteen? Twelve? Fourteen? Any age other than ours, basically.  "I hope that information helps, Kenji, by providing some possible context.”  Kenji’s eyes did alight— with understanding this time. “That helps a lot. Thanks, Jet.”

If you’d define ‘childhood sweetheart’ as someone who loved you back- and I mean romantically- then I had none. However. I doubt that there are many ‘childhood sweethearts’ who've experienced such romantic equality since youth.

If. You were to ask. ‘Who was your childhood crush?’

Then. I could tell you.

Her name is Amber Midge. She was my best friend. At the time.

There. Are we done, now? With all of these love confessions via interview?

How awkward.

8. Who's your favorite author?

 As I read this one to Kenji, I couldn’t help smiling. “I guess the interviewer heard you.”  A smile stole across his face, too— twisted by all desires not to smile, so it seemed to me. He then reached up to his face with one hand, and began swiping the sides of his mouth with his palm. “So it seems,” he uttered.  His shy happiness sent me- on the inside- into backflips.  My gosh; I loved when Kenji opened up even a little.

Dorothy L. Sayers, author of ‘Strong Poison.’

Sorry, Jet Malek: It’s not you, even though you’re my author, illustrator, and creator. 

It's because I like detective novels. And you write urban fantasy. ‘Elements of mystery,’ written in another genre, don’t count as my favorite. Give me those stubborn, hardboiled, 19th- and 20th-century detectives, and I’m sold.

I guess that means Arthur Conan Doyle is another favorite of mine. But, I actually don’t know from experience. ‘Sherlock Holmes’ stories are apparently so popular on Earth that I’ve yet to read a copy on Stray.

Maybe, someday. An Earth person who loved 'Sherlock Holmes' stories, will suddenly stop liking them. Causing their thoughts of those stories to drop onto Stray. Here. Nearby one of my most frequented bookstores. And, doesn't get sold out before I can buy.  

That's certainly a lot of 'if's.

9. Now, what's your biggest fear?

 Like I’d done before, I shrugged at Kenji regarding this question. “Unless you have some tangible phobia, this question feels to me like it would be more suited for an author than a character. I mean— as a person, I don't often go around thinking, ‘Wow, X is my biggest fear.’ ”  When Kenji chuckled, I wanted to throw my pen down onto the table and gape at him— possibly pointing an emphatic finger, too, or maybe waving some jazz hands of excitement.   Kenji just laughed?I thought. When was the last time that happened?

 Knowing a lot better than to do any of the things that I'd imagined, I simply smirked and folded my hands over my paper.  Kenji then told me in a low voice, as he sat with his arms less tightly crossed than before, “You really did think this over first. Well. Thanks for sticking to the integrity of the original questions, regardless. I guess.”

My biggest fear.

Huh!

Give me a moment.

My biggest fears, are so big that I don’t even like saying them aloud. So: I’m trying to help you out, by naming something smaller.

Hmm.

Spills, I guess.

I hate that feeling, of spilling something. It makes me extra cautious, even around hot liquids.

Which I love.

That’s, like a ‘fear.’ That counts.

…Moving on now.

10. Any siblings?

Okay, that one almost made me laugh. Out of spite.

No— thank the Earth, my parents were not stupid enough to try and have any other kids like me.

11. Almost done, it's only twenty questions. Who's your hero?

‘Almost done,’ huh? More than halfway; I guess that counts.

All right. ‘Who’s my hero?’

Again, I need to think. This isn't something that I focus on much. …Okay, not something that I focus on, ever. Give me another minute.

Not my Dad or Mom; ugh. Not any celebrities; couldn’t care less.

Well. …Perhaps that’s telling: that I can only think of ‘not’ heroes.

Really, though; isn’t there anyone I at least admire?

Huh!

Whoa, does that change things: Yes. There are plenty of people who I admire.

Friends of mine. My psychiatrist. Friends’ parents, or friends' siblings.

None of them, would I consider my ‘hero,’ however.

There’s no changing me for the better— I am what I am, because I was born a half-dragon. So.

There’s no point in looking up to somebody, wanting to be more like them. Because I can’t be.

12. OK, who's your worst enemy?

Hah. …I’d guess my Dad, but that’s probably rude. He and Mom didn’t know any better, or something.

Myself. That’s, definitely a far better, more accurate answer.

How pathetic. I’m one of ‘those.’

‘I am my own worst enemy.’ Wow, how cheesy.

13. Huh, alright. Now who's your best friend?

…

I was about to say, ‘I don’t have one.’

Hah!

But even that’s too low for me!

And: I realized, it’s not true. Thankfully.

Confessing that I didn’t think of her, right away, because. I guess, I consider. Her. Better than a friend.

If only.

But, no. We’re not in a romantic relationship. No.

…I just esteem her, that highly.

‘Yakitori.’ That’s her online handle.

 He whispered something extra to himself. And in the moment that he noticed I’d overheard, he started to panic.  But I promised him: I wouldn’t write that last comment.

14. Interesting... What would you do if you met your creator?

Heh; I’m sitting across the table from her. Right now.

Guess I’d, get interviewed. If I met her.

15. Now, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Oh please.

I already feel as old as crocodiles. Am I supposed to want something later than this?

Well. What I want, now, is 'to not be a poison in other people's lives.' I’m getting what I want right now— so long as I stay in this city, keep on being careful and get myself a new Sentry. I wouldn’t want anything else.

So, I suppose that means: I want my job, out-of-college, to be here. In Stray’s Manhattan New York.

That’s what I want to have, ’when I grow up.’ After I graduate from college.

16. What's your worst nightmare?

…The opposite of what I just described. 'Poisoning other people's lives.' Again.

I don’t want that happening, ever again...

17. What's your lifelong dream?

…No.

Those days, are over. I will never have my lifelong dream become a reality.

So why talk about it?

18. What would you do if your lifelong dream came true?

 He suddenly looked at me with a scowl that tossed me right back into the past— to the moment when I’d asked, if he’d willingly be interviewed.  “Was this your add-on question?” he growled. "Did you switch the format all of a sudden?"  “No!” I blurted. I felt more scared than I wanted to feel— I wasn’t afraid of him, but of losing him.  We’d gotten so far. Things had been so smooth. I didn’t want my voice betraying my fears to him. I knew that he’d take them to mean what he wanted, instead of the truth: that I cared about him, and worried over him.   How do I recover? I thought. And then, thankfully, I quickly found the answer. 

 “I stopped adding alternate questions, Kenji, back when.” My cheeks flushed as I faltered, trying to recall and trying to re-word it for his ears both at the same time. “A while ago, I said something by way of explaining. Or apologizing. And, once you told me, in essence, it was okay— I just went with it.  "I stopped inserting my own opinions, alternate questions for you, or anything. Really. I was just trying to write what you were telling me, fast enough— so that I wouldn’t lose all of it.”  The word ‘integrity’ popped into my mind: what he’d described of my process.  I hoped that he remembered that word now, too.  He almost seemed to; his expression wasn’t a scowl, anymore. It wasn’t a smile, or a frown, or even a hiding-smile. Like my favorite kind.  Instead, his eyes seemed to focus on me for only a moment, but then focus on nothing at all as he seemed to retreat into his thoughts. His mouth was a straight line of thought.  I could just imagine him, then, saying to himself: ‘I have to believe her, because, it’s obviously a true report. But I don’t want to. I’d rather blame something tangible than note the coincidence— that this follow-up question was even asked. After I said to her, I’m not going to talk about it.’  Even as I could just imagine these ideas whizzing through his brain, I kept my lips pressed together tensely.  I wanted to know what he’d say- what he’d choose- after all of this.

If.

My lifelong dream.

…Of becoming a family, with somebody else.

And not being, a danger. To anybody else. Ever.

…If. That, lifelong dream. Came true.

…

I can’t even imagine, how happy I’d be.

But it’s not guaranteed: it even, wouldn’t be, guaranteed. If it happened.

Because: it’s not just some, ‘I want to marry a princess’ fantasy, or whatever. It’s that I want to be something, that I'm not. I'd want it every day, without any more internal struggles.

And I’d, have to work extremely hard in order to get there. To not be, a Half-dragon.

Which I’m already trying, in the only way that I know how.

…The only difference, is. I’d be risking it all with someone else, every day. If my dream ever came true.

Which it won’t.

…That probably means. I wouldn’t be all that happy, after all.

…I sound just, emo when it’s said out loud. How appalling.

19. OK, where's your favorite place to relax?

…I’m not giving you any more ‘emo’ fodder.

Hah.

This is a natural question; not something that I would say, ‘I never relax!’ to.

Hahah! …That’s actually, pretty great. Come to think of it. ‘Never relax.’

I mean, really? You wouldn't survive, if you didn't sometimes.

I love relaxing while lying down in the sun. Reading a book.

Anywhere could work— but in my apartment, that place is up in the window box. There’s this ledge that’s long and wide enough for a person to stretch out across it. And it’s located right beneath the apartment window. It’s my favorite place in the world, right now. I’d rather be there, sleeping, all day. Every day. I guess with a little reading and eating, every now and then.

But. If I did only that: I wouldn’t graduate, wouldn’t have a job, and wouldn’t live in an apartment of my own anymore. Heh.

So, I’ll settle for sleeping there as long as physically possible, instead.

Playing video games on my computer, by the way, is one of my favorite hobbies. But it’s not relaxing—hah!

20. Last question! What do you do most of the time?

I kind of covered it, throughout the interview.

Wouldn’t you say so, Jet?

Go to school, work for free- I mean, at an internship- until or if I get hired, then go back home and go to sleep. Play video games.

Those are the things that I do most of the time.

 Though I was still writing down his last answer, I heard Kenji push his chair back from the table. The shadow that he was casting on me grew, as I assumed that he stood up and, at last, I could pause from my writing long enough to look up at him and smile. My smile was grateful, and it was wishful. 

 I wanted to stay with him. Write for him.  'Help to solve all of his problems,’ yes; in the way that we writers all think that we can. Through our stories.  As if our characters didn’t write themselves.  “Hey, I, wanted to say thanks,” I stood up and held out my hand, formally. It was my offer of peace. “We don’t have to do interviews ever again, if you’d rather that. I don’t have any more questions that were provided, so. That’s easy for me to say now.”  His light green eyes acknowledged my hand. But when he brought his right hand forward, he moved it past mine— and landed it atop of my head.  I could almost cry— again. How was a character that I’d dreamed up, back when I was little, so much taller and taller than me now? Is this what it feels like to be a parent? I wondered in silence. 

 “You’re good,” he stated. “Not that, ‘you can interview me again.’ That’s not what I’m saying.  “But I know that you have a lot of trouble writing.  "You worry. You think a lot of things. You give. A lot. Of your time. You, care.  “And you could be like me, as I know that you’ve sometimes wanted— in a ‘safety’ sort of way. You could keep on being dissatisfied, with all of your own efforts. Like me.  “It’s hard for you to write. Without knowing your audience.  "It’s gotten harder for you to write. For yourself.  “But, whatever. You also don’t have to be like me, at all— because no one should do that. You could just be,” he hesitated before saying, “Happy. With what you have done. What you do. Wherever it leads. However little of a difference it seems to make.  “Not that, ‘I could do it, it’s so easy.’ Not at all. Instead, I’d like to keep working on that. It seems. Guess, I’d like to be happy, too, when I grow up.” Then he shrugged. “So. It’s been cool.”  He only removed his hand, I noticed, after I’d smiled up at him and said: “That’s, so eloquently worded. Um. Thank you?”  The slightest happiness glowed in his eyes as he smirked and nodded, pocketing both of his hands in his three-quarter-length tan coat. “Sure.” He lifted his hand, like he was waving, as he turned towards the open exit doorway. “We’ll talk again. Take care of yourself.”  “You, too. Please!” I whispered a little too late as he crossed the threshold.

He probably could hear me, I thought, reassuring myself. He’s Half-dragon. And Dragons have excellent hearing.